VATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE   AND    HIS   WIFE 


C  ON  TENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND 1 

II.    PROM  THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON 40 

III.  MRS.  BLODGETT'S,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON    ...  74 

IV.  EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME 125 

V.    DONATI'S  COMET      .    .    ' 170 

VI.    ROME  TO  ENGLAND 203 

VII.    THE  MARBLE  EATJN 236 

VIII.    THE  WAYSIDE  AND  THE  WAR 262 

IX.    THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END 300 

X.    CONCLUSION 334 

APPENDIX 379 

INDEX  .  389 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTEATIONS. 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  AT  THE  AGE  OF  THIIITY-SIX. 
Etched  by  S.  A.  SCHOFF.  From  a  painting  in  pos 
session  of  R.  C.  MANNING,  of  Salem  .  .  .  Frontispiece 

HILDA'S  TOWER.     Etched  by  E.  H.  GARRETT  .     .      Titlepage 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  AT  THE  AGE  OF  FIFTY-SIX. 
Etched  by  S.  A.  SCHOFF.  From  a  photograph  by 
MAYAL,  London 150 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  AT  THE  AGE  OF  FIFTY-EIGHT. 
Etched  by  S.  A.  SCHOFF.  From  a  photograph  taken 
in  Boston .  300 


NATHANIEL    HAWTHORNE 
AND    HIS    WIFE. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND. 

WE  are  told,  truly  enough,  that  goodness  does  not 
always  command  good  fortune  in  this  world,  that 
just  hopes  are  often  deferred  until  it  is  too  late  to 
enjoy  their  realization,  that  fame  and  honor  only 
discover  a  man  after  ha  has  ceased  to  value  them  ; 
and  a  large  and  respectable  portion  of  modern  fic 
tion  is  occupied  in  impressing  these  sober  lessons 
•upon  us.  It  is  pleasant,  nevertheless,  to  believe 
that  sometimes  fate  condescends  not  to  be  so  un- 
mitigable,  and  that  a  cloudy  and  gusty  morning  does 
occasionally  brighten  into  a  sunny  and  genial  after 
noon.  Too  long  a  course  of  apparently  perverse 
and  unreasonable  accidents  bewilders  the  mind,  and 
the  few  and  fleeting  gleams  of  compensation  seem 
a  mockery.  One  source  of  the  perennial  charm  of 
Goldsmith's  "Vicar  of  Wakefield"  is,  I  think,  that 
in  it  the  dividing  line  between  the  good  and  the  bad 
fortune  is  so  distinctly  drawn.  Just  when  man  has 


HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

done  his  utmost,  and  all  seems  lost,  Providence  steps 
in,  brings  aid  from  the  most  unexpected  quarter,  and 
kindles  everything  into  brighter  and  ever  brighter 
prosperity.  The  action  and  reaction  are  positive  and 
complete,  and  we  arise  refreshed  and  comforted  from 
the  experience. 

It  was  somewhat  thus  with  Hawthorne,  though 
the  picture  of  his  career  is  to  be  painted  in  a  lower 
and  more  delicate  tone  than  that  of  Goldsmith's 
brilliant  little  canvas.  Up  to  the  time  of  the  pub 
lication  of  "  The  Scarlet  Letter,"  his  external  circum 
stances  had  certainly  been  growing  more  and  more 
unpromising ;  though,  on  the  other  hand,  his  inner 
domestic  life  had  been  full  of  the  most  vital  and  ten 
der  satisfactions.  But  the  date  of  his  first  popular 
success  in  literature  also  marks  the  commencement 
of  a  worldly  prosperity  which,  though  never  by  any 
means  splendid  (as  we  shall  presently  see),  at  any 
rate  sufficed  to  allay  the  immediate  anxiety  about 
to-morrow's  bread-and-butter,  from  which  he  had 
not  hitherto  been  free.  The  three  American  novels 
were  written  and  published  in  rapid  succession,  and 
were  reprinted  in  England,  —  the  first  two  being 
pirated ;  but  for  the  last,  "  The  Blithedale  Komance," 
two  hundred  pounds  was  obtained  from  Messrs. 
Chapman  and  Hall  for  advance  sheets.  There  is 
every  reason  to  believe  that  during  the  ensuing 
years  other  romances  would  have  been  written ;  and 
perhaps  they  would  have  been  as  good  as,  or  better 
than,  those  that  went  before.  But  it  is  vain  to  spec- 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND.  3 

ulate  as  to  what  might  have  been.  What  actually 
happened  was,  that  Hawthorne  was  appointed  United 
States  Consul  to  Liverpool;  and  for  six  years  to  come 
his  literary  exercises  were  confined  to  his  consular 
despatches  and  to  the  six  or  eight  manuscript  vol 
umes  of  his  English,  French,  and  Italian  Journals.  It 
was  a  long  abstinence ;  possibly  it  was  a  beneficent 
one.  The  production  of  such  books  as  "  The  Scarlet 
Letter"  and  "The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables"  cannot 
go  on  indefinitely ;  though  they  seem  to  be  easily 
written  when  they  are  written,  they  represent  a 
great  deal  of  the  writer's  spiritual  existence.  At  all 
events,  it  is  better  to  write  too  little  than  too  much. 

This  outlet  to  Europe  was  for  both  Hawthorne 
and  his  wife  the  unlooked-for  realization  of  the 
dreams  of  a  lifetime.  Eew  Americans  ever  jour 
neyed  thither  better  equipped  than  they  for  appre 
ciating  and  enjoying  what  lay  before  them.  They 
might  have  said  of  England  or  Italy  what  Tenny 
son's  Prince  says  of  the  Princess,  —  "Ere  seen  I 
loved,  and  loved  thee  seen."  What  can  be  more 
agreeable  than  to  be  born  with  tastes  which  cannot 
be  fully  gratified  in  the  land  of  your  birth,  and  then, 
when  the  bustle  and  struggle  of  life  are  over,  and 
your  faculties  and  judgment  are  ripened,  to  find  your 
self  all  at  once  in  actual  contact  with  the  things,  the 
scenes,  and  the  people  that  have  so  long  constituted 
the  substance  of  your  meditations  ?  Such  enjoyment 
repays  much  waiting ;  indeed,  it  can  hardly  exist  save 
on  that  condition.  And  yet,  I  suppose,  the  best  part 


4  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

of  the  enjoyment  was  the  immediate  anticipation  of 
it.  If  for  no  other  reason  than  that  the  climate  of 
England  is  depressing,  and  that  of  Italy  treacherous, 
those  countries  fail  quite  to  fulfil  the  best  that  one  has 
expected  of  them. 

On  the  other  side,  a  number  of  people  who  had 
made  his  acquaintance  through  his  books,  as  the 
phrase  is,  were  looking  forward  with  hospitable  pleas 
ure  to  Hawthorne's  arrival.  Four  or  five  months  be 
fore  the  date  fixed  for  sailing,  Mrs.  Hawthorne  in  a 
letter  to  her  father  quotes  the  following  passage  from 
a  letter  written  by  Miss  De  Quincey :  — 

"We  lately  received  a  letter  written  to  a  friend 
by  one  of  De  Quiucey's  daughters,  who  expresses 
herself  very  warmly  about  Mr.  Hawthorne.  This  is 
what  she  says  :  '  Your  mention  of  Mr.  Hawthorne 
puts  me  in  mind  to  tell  you  what  rabid  admirers  we 
are  of  his.  I  am  sure  it  was  worth  while  saving  his 
manuscripts  from  the  flames,  if  his  only  reward  was 
gaining  one  family,  not  millions,  of  such  adorers  as 
ourselves.  There  is  no  prose  writer  of  the  present 
day  in  whom  I  have  half  the  interest  that  I  have  in 
him.  His  style  is  in  my  mind  so  beautifully  refined, 
and  there  is  such  exquisite  pathos  and  quaint  humor, 
and  such  an  awfully  deep  knowledge  of  human  na 
ture,  —  not  that  hard,  unloving,  detestable,  and  (as  it 
is  purely  one-sided  or  wrong-sided)  false  reading  of 
it  that  one  finds  in  Thackeray.  He  reminds  me  in 
many  things  of  Charles  Lamb,  and  of  heaps  of  our 
rare  old  English  humorists,  with  their  deep,  pathetic 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND.  5 

natures.  And  one  faculty  he  possesses  beyond  any 
writer  I  remember  (not  dramatic,  for  then  I  could  cer 
tainly  remember  Shakspeare),  —  namely,  that  of  ex 
citing  you  to  the  highest  pitch  without  ever,  as  I  am 
aware  of,  making  you  feel  by  his  catastrophe  ashamed 
of  having  been  so  excited.  What  I  mean  is,  if  you 
have  ever  read  it,  such  a  case  as  occurs  in  the  "  Mys 
teries  of  Udolpho,"  where  your  disgust  is  beyond  all 
expression  at  finding  that  all  your  fright  about  the 
ghostly  creature  that  has  haunted  you  throughout 
the  volume  has  been  caused  by  a  pitiful  wax  image  ! 
I  merely  give  this  as  an  exaggerated  case  of  what  I  feel 
in  reading  most  books  where  any  great  passion  is 
meant  to  be  worked  upon.  And  no  author  does  work 
upon  them  more,  apparently  with  no  effort  to  him 
self.  But  it  may  be  only  his  consummate  art  to  suc 
ceed  so  effectually.  I  cannot  satisfy  myself  as  to 
whether  I  like  his  sort  of  essays  contained  in  the 
"  Twice-Told  Tales  "  best,  or  his  more  finished  works, 
such  as  "The  Blithedale  Romance,"  Every  touch  he 
adds  to  any  character  gives  a  higher  interest  to  it,  so 
that  I  should  like  the  longer  ones  best ;  but  there  is  a 
concentration  of  excellence  in  the  shorter  things,  and 
passages  that  strike  in  force  like  daggers  in  their 
beauty  and  truth,  so  I  generally  end  by  liking  that 
best  which  I  have  read  last.  Will  you  tell  him  how 
much  we  love  and  admire  his  gracious  nature  ?  There 
are  other  stars  in  your  firmament,  all  of  whom  we 
admire,  some  greatly ;  but  he  outshines  them  all  by 
infinite  degrees.' " 


6  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

—  "  This  is  very  pleasant/'  adds  Mrs.  Hawthorne ; 
and  it  is  certainly  as  appreciative  as  one  could  wish, 
and,  like  most  such  eulogies,  throws  more  light  upon 
the  eulogist  than  the  eulogized. 

A  year  or  two  later,  when  we  were  settled  in 
England,  this  same  Miss  De  Quincey  wrote  to  Mr. 
Hawthorne  from  Ireland,  enclosing  a  note  from  her 
married  sister,  Mrs.  Craig,  at  whose  house  she  was 
staying.  Although  at  the  sacrifice  of  chronological 
order,  I  subjoin  the  letters  here.  So  far  as  1  am 
aware,  Mr.  Hawthorne  never  happened  to  meet  either 
De  Quincey  himself  or  any  of  his  family. 

PEGSBORO",  TIPPERARY,  IRELAND,  Nov.  13,  1854. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  HAWTHORNE,  —  I  received  a  letter 
to-day  to  forward  to  my  father,  with  the  Liverpool 
postmark,  and  "  1ST.  H."  on  the  seal.  Partly  hoping 
arid  partly  fearing  it  may  be  from  you,  I  write  to  ex 
plain  to  you  why  it  is  not  already  answered,  and  why 
it  may  not  be  answered  for  some  time  longer.  Papa 
retired  early  this  summer  to  the  wilds  of  an  Edin 
burgh  lodging-house,  in  order  to  be  nearer  his  pub 
lishers,  and  to  be  rid  of  the  interruptions  to  which  he 
was  liable  at  home  ;  and  my  youngest  sister  and  I 
have  taken  advantage  of  his  absence  to  shut  up  our 
house  for  a  month  or  two,  and  to  come  over  here  to 
visit  my  eldest  sister,  and  to  worship  our  first  niece, 
a  very  lovely  little  atom  not  yet  two  months  old. 
Papa's  letters  are  sent  to  me  here  to  be  forwarded 
to  him,  which  will  account  for  your  letter  not  yet 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND.  7 

being  answered;  and  should  it  still  continue  unan 
swered,  this  too  will  be  accounted  for,  should  you 
have  heard  anything  of  papa's  shortcomings  in  the 
way  of  letter-writing,  and  of  letter-reading  too,  as  he 
very  often  does  not  open  his  letters  unless  he  knows 
he  has  one  of  us  at  hand  to  answer  them.  We  are  all 
very  much  afraid  your  letter  may  be  to  offer  a  visit 
while  we  are  from  home,  which  we  have  been  looking 
forward  to  so  long.  Should  this  be  the  case,  I  can  at 
least  give  you  papa's  address  in  Edinburgh,  that  he 
may  not  miss  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you,  which  — 
as  I  shall  feel  particularly  savage  at  our  own  misfor 
tune  in  doing  so  —  is  a  stretch  of  generous  consider 
ation  that  I  hope  you  and  he  will  recognize.  I  feel 
as  if  we  knew  you,  or  rather  as  if  you  knew  us,  so 
intimately  and  so  tenderly  in  your  works,  that  I 
cannot  finish  my  letter  but  as 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

FLORENCE  DE  QUINCEY. 

—  Here  is  the  enclosure  :  — 

MY  DEAR  MR.  HAWTHORNE,  —  Though  I  have  given 
up  my  claim  to  be  "  Miss  De  Quincey,"  I  hope  I  have 
not  given  up  the  chance  of  becoming  acquainted  with 
you.  I  was  included  in  the  promise  of  introduction 
to  you ;  and  if  I,  then  my  husband  too,  for  we  are 
<l  one  flesh."  Mr.  Craig  desires  me  to  say  how  heartily 
he  joins  me  in  hoping  we  may  have  the  pleasure  of 
welcoming  such  guests  in  our  Irish  home.  I  have  a 
private  reason  of  my  own  for  wishing  it  too.  You 


8  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS  WIFE. 

are  a  baby-fancier,  and  I  want  to  compare  notes  with 
you  about  our  little  "  Puck "  as  we  call  her ;  being 
made  by  nature  as  nearly  like  a  little  angel  as  any 
thing  I  ever  saw,  she  chooses  to  make  herself,  when 
we  want  to  show  her  off  to  any  one,  like  Puck  and 
those  gargoyle  faces  on  the  outside  of  churches,  —  all 
to  put  her  poor  parents  in  confusion.  But  I  suppose 
I  had  better  stop  this  subject.  So  with  our  kindest 
regards  to  you  all,  I  beg  to  remain,  dear  sir, 
Faithfully  yours, 

M.  CRAIG. 

—  Mr.  Hawthorne  always  enjoyed  De  Quincey's 
writings.  I  remember  his  reading  the  brown-covered 
volumes  of  Ticknor's  American  edition,  as  they  came 
out  one  after  another ;  and  he  often  recurred  to  them 
afterwards.  The  music  of  the  style  pleased  him,  and 
the  smoothness  and  finish  of  the  thought.  After  the 
return  of  the  family  to  Concord,  in  1860,  he  gave  his 
son  a  passage  from  the  essay  on  "  The  Caesars "  to 
learn  for  his  first  school-declamation.  It  was  a  very 
eloquent  piece  of  writing ;  but  there  is  no  record 
of  its  having  produced  a  deep  impression  on  the 
school.  On  another  occasion  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  who 
shared  her  husband's  fondness  for  the  author,  read 
aloud  to  her  children  the  whole  of  the  story,  or  his 
torical  sketch,  entitled  "  Klosterheim."  It  was  good 
reading,  —  I  do  not  know  when  I  have  listened  to  bet 
ter;  and  it  fixed  the  tale  forever  in  the  memory  of 
the  auditors.  Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hawthorne  seem  to 
have  been  born  good  readers ;  there  were  music,  vari- 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND.  9 

ety,  and  expression  in  every  tone,  and  the  charm  of 
feeling  that  the  reader  was  in  sympathy  with  the 
reading.  While  we  were  in  England,  Mr.  Hawthorne 
read  to  us  Spenser's  "  Faerie  Queene;"  and  his  chil 
dren  were  knights-errant  and  princesses  for  years 
afterwards.  Again,  two  or  three  years  before  his 
death,  he  read  aloud  the  whole  of  Walter  Scott's 
novels,  taking  up  the  volumes  night  after  night,  until 
all  were  completed.  That,  too,  was  something  to  re 
member.  All  the  characters  seemed  to  live  and  move 
visibly  before  us.  The  expression  of  his  face  changed, 
as  he  read,  in  harmony  with  the  speech  or  the  pas 
sage.  It  was  very  pleasant  to  see  him  sitting  with 
a  book :  he  would  settle  himself  comfortably  in  his 
chair,  and  hold  the  book  open  in  his  left  hand,  his  fin 
gers  clasping  it  over  the  top  ;  and  as  he  read  (whether 
aloud  or  to  himself),  there  was  a  constantly  recurrent 
forward  movement  of  his  head,  which  seemed  some 
how  to  give  distinctness  and  significance  to  the  sen 
tences  and  paragraphs,  and  indicated  the  constant 
living  rapport  between  him  and  the  author.  These 
movements  were  very  slight  and  unobtrusive,  but 
they  were  among  the  things  which  conveyed  to  the 
beholder  that  impression  of  unfailing  spiritual  vital 
ity  and  intellectual  comprehensiveness  which  always 
characterized  Hawthorne. 

What  De  Quincey  thought  of  Hawthorne's  writ 
ings,  or  whether  he  ever  read  them,  we  have  no  rec 
ord.  De  Quincey's  own  countrymen  do  not  seem,  as 
a  rule,  to  have  cared  as  much  for  him  as  his  Amer- 


10  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

lean  admirers  did.  Mr.  Henry  Bright  writes:  "In 
1854  I  had  written  a  review  of  De  Quincey  in  the 
'Westminster,'  and  Mr.  Hawthorne  wrote  to  me, 
quite  indignant  that  I  had  not  praised  De  Quincey 
more  warmly."  At  this  time,  however,  there  was,  I  be 
lieve,  no  complete  English  edition  of  the  man's  writ 
ings;  they  were  scattered  through  various  reviews, 
and  of  course  lost  much  of  their  collective  effect. 

But  this  is  a  digression.  In  February,  1853,  Mrs. 
Hawthorne  had  more  news  of  expectant  English 
admirers  to  tell  her  father:  — 

"  Mr.  Hawthorne  received  the  other  day  from  Shef 
field  a  very  thick  letter,  and  it  contained  one  of  his 
sketches,  'The  White  Old  Maid/  rendered  into  verse ; 
and  with  the  poem,  a  letter  from  the  poet,  in  which 
he  expresses  the  greatest  admiration  and  delight  in 
his  works.  It  is  signed  '  Henry  Cecil.'  He  begins 
the  letter  'My  dear  Brother;'  and  he  says  he  at 
tempted  this  poetical  version  because  of  a  dispute 
that  the  spell  of  the  tale  could  not  be  retained  in 
rhyme.  Lately  Mr.  Hawthorne  also  had  a  letter 
from  Bennett,  an  English  poet,  —  a  very  loving  and 
admiring  letter ;  and  at  the  end  he  says  his  l  Baby 
May '  bids  him  '  send  Mr.  Hawthorne  a  kiss  for  his 
promise  of  a  Wonder  Book  j  and  her  love  to  Una  and 
Julian  and  little  Hose  —  bud  as  she  is.  I  am  ordered 
too  by  Mrs.  Bennett  to  be  sure  and  tell  you  what  an 
admirer  you  have  in  her.' " 

—  Hawthorne  met  both  of  these  gentlemen  after 
his  arrival  in  England.  I  do  not  remember  what 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND.  11 

became  of  Mr.  Henry  Cecil,  and  have  found  no  let 
ters  of  his ;  but  Mr.  Bennett  became,  and  remained 
to  the  last,  among  the  most  cordial  and  agreeable 
friends  of  the  American  author. 

The  months  preceding  departure  were  occupied  in 
preparations,  whereof  there  seemed  never  to  be  an 
end.  And  yet  Hawthorne  did  not  anticipate  so  pro 
longed  an  absence  as  proved  to  be  before  him ;  and 
it  was  moreover  intended  to  "  run  home  "  occasion 
ally,  and  so  break  the  spell  of  exile.  But  an  ocean 
voyage  is  even  now  something  of  an  undertaking, 
and  was  still  more  so  then.  Besides,  Time  is  fertile 
in  deceptions  ;  he  never  gives  us  a  fourth  part  as 
much  leisure  as  he  promises  us.  Furthermore,  At 
lantic  journeys  cost  money,  and  the  Liverpool  Consu 
late  turned  out  to  be  very  much  less  of  a  gold-mine 
than  it  was  thought  to  be.  In  a  certain  sense,  too, 
all  partings  in  this  world  are  final :  we  never  find  on 
our  return  the  same  thing  or  person  that  we  'left ;  at 
any  rate,  we  never  bring  the  same  person  back.  Cer 
tainly  the  Concord  of  1860  was  a  very  different 
place,  to  Hawthorne,  from  the  Concord  of  1853. 
But  fortunately  we  perceive  this  sober  truth  only  in 
the  retrospect;  the  outlook  forward  is  much  more 
agreeable,  as  may  be  judged  from  this  letter  to  Dr. 
Peabody  from  his  daughter,  written  in  May,  —  six 
weeks  before  sailing  :  — 

" .  .  .  I  very  much  hope  you  are  more  glad  than  sorry 
at  the  turning  up  of  our  wheel  of  Fortune.  I  hope 


12  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

to  come  back  from  England  and  make  you  a  visit 
before  our  final  return  to  America,  and  show  you  the 
children  before  they  are  grown  too  big.  Ericsson's 
caloric  ships  will  soon  be  crossing  the  Atlantic ;  and 
they  will  be  as  safe  as  a  parlor,  you  know,  and  so 
people  can  make  calls  across  the  ocean  with  compos 
ure  of  mind.  The  two  older  children  are  filled  with 
delighted  wonder  and  hope ;  as  to  Eosebud,  what 
matters  it  to  her  whether  she  stand  on  one  hemi 
sphere  or  the  other,  so  long  as  Papa,  Mamma,  Oona, 
and  Dulan  are  within  sight  ?  I  do  not  intend  to  bid 
any  one  farewell.  There  is  really  no  distance  now. 
I  do  not  feel  as  if  Liverpool  were  far  off.  I  can  write 
to  you  by  every  steamer,  and  you  will  know  exactly 
about  us,  as  if  you  were  in  Newton  and  we  in  Con 
cord.  And  soon  the  telegraph  will  take  news  by 
lightning  between  the  Old  and  the  New  Worlds,  and 
wre  can  be  well  advised  of  one  another. 

"We  receive  the  pleasantest  and  most  cordial  assur 
ances  from  all  quarters  upon  this  Consulate.  It  was 
a  very  noble  act  of  General  Pierce ;  for  the  office  is 
second  in  dignity  only  to  the  Embassy  in  London, 
and  is  more  sought  for  than  any  other,  and  is  nearly  the 
most  lucrative,  and  General  Pierce  might  have  made 
great  political  capital  out  of  it  if  that  were  his  way. 
But  he  acts  from  the  highest  and  not  lowest  mo 
tives,  and  would  make  any  sacrifice  to  the  right.  Mr. 
Charles  Sunnier  sent  a  note  written  in  the  Senate 
Chamber  at  the  moment  of  confirmation,  that  fairly 
shouted  as  with  a  silver  trumpet,  it  was  so  cordial  and 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND.  13 

strong  in  joy.  So  from  all  sides.  Mr.  Hawthorne 
seems  chosen  by  acclamation,  as  General  Pierce  was. 

"  Mr,  Hawthorne  got  back  from  Washington  last 
Thursday.  He  says  he  should  have  seen  arid  learned 
much  that  was  desirable  for  him  to  know  and  see  if 
he  had  stayed  three  weeks  longer ;  but  he  was  tired 
out  with  even  so  much  of  it,  being  lionized  to  a 
painful  degree  everywhere  he  went.  He  received 
fifty  letters  while  there,  I  forget  how  many  tele 
graphic  despatches,  and  a  vast  number  of  cards,  and 
was  introduced  to  everybody  of  any  note.  He  had  the 
satisfaction  of  accomplishing  a  good  deal  for  others, 
and  it  proved  a-  most  fortunate  moment  for  him 
self  to  be  there.  Many  things  he  told  me  that 
teach  me  a  great  deal  about  the  difficulty  and  deli 
cacy  of  judging  men  in  high  positions,  with  wide 
responsibilities,  justly. 

"  Mr.  Hawthorne  says  he  was  very  glad  to  look  at 
the  country  from  a  central  point.  I  can  conceive 
how  much  lie  could  gain  from  the  right  point,  with 
his  harvesting  eye,  generalizing  and  concentrating 
all  things.  When  he  had  once  turned  homeward,  he 
came  as  fast  as  steam  could  bring  him,  though  he 
had  intended  to  remain  in  New  York  and  then  in 
Boston.  This  strong  tendency  towards  home  saved 
him  from  that  terrific  accident  on  Friday,  —  which  he 
escaped  so  narrowly  that  it  makes  me  shiver  to  think 
of  it,  —  though,  to  be  sure,  I  cannot  believe  in  chances., 
He  arrived  at  noon.  Julian  was  out  of  doors.  Mary 
Herne,  our  cook,  was  sewing  under  the  pine  shrub- 


14  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

bery.  Julian  rushed  past  her  with  a  face  of  red  fire, 
shouting  { Father !  Papa ! '  with  such  a  tremendous 
emphasis  that  everybody  in  and  out  of  the  house 
heard  him  at  once.  The  stage  drove  up.  Baby  was 
asleep;  and  when  she  waked,  she  was  dressed  and 
put  into  the  room,  and  unexpectedly  saw  Papa.  It 
was  too  -much  for  her.  Her  eyes  twinkled  and  closed 
exactly  as  if  a  dazzling  sun  had  blazed  upon  her ;  and 
when  her  father  moved  towards  her,  she  burst  into 
tears  arid  clung  to  me  and  hid  her  face.  It  took  a 
good  while  to  tranquillize  her;  but  finally,  when  she 
could  manage  her  emotions,  she  shook  hands  with 
him,  and  then  got  up  in  his  lap  with  an  expression 
of  the  utmost  satisfaction  — 

"  Monday  Morning.  —  I  was  interrupted  yesterday 
by. 'Mr.  Alcott  coming,  and  he  stayed  to  tea;  so  I 
send  my  letter  this  morning  as  it  is." 

—  On  a  hot  July  morning  Hawthorne,  with  his 
wife  and  children,  left  Concord  and  went  by  train 
to  Boston,  where  they  embarked  on  the  Cunard 
steamer  "Niagara,"  which  was  commanded  by  Cap 
tain  Leitch.  The  captain  was  a  very  charming  per 
sonage,  as  the  children  soon  found  out ;  he  was  rather 
below  the  medium  height,  slender,  with  a  handsome 
countenance,  bushy  black  whiskers,  and  very  quiet 
and  courteous  manners.  It  so  happened  that  he 
commanded  the  vessel  on  which,  seven  years  later, 
Hawthorne  made  the  return  trip  to  Boston.  That 
vessel,  however,  was  not  the  "  Niagara : "  the  latter 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND.  15 

was  chartered  by  the  British  Government,  during  the 
Crimean  war,  to  convey  soldiers  to  the  Black- Sea; 
and  Hawthorne  took  his  son  down  to  the  Liverpool 
wharves  to  see  her  depart  on  that  occasion,  loaded 
down  with  red -coated  heroes,  —  very  few  of  whom,  by 
the  by,  ever  saw  Liverpool  again.  The  "Niagara" 
was,  of  course,  a  paddle-wheel  steamer,  and  must  have 
been  something  less  than  three  hundred  feet  in  length, 
though  her  beam  was  scarcely  less  than  that  of  the 
great  screw-propellers  of  the  present  day.  She  was 
a  palace  of  wonder  and  delight  to  the  young  people ; 
and  she  carried,  as  part  of  her  crew,  an  amiable  cow 
and  a  brood  of  clucking  hens.  The  weather,  at  start 
ing,  was  very  fine ;  we  passed  several  ships  becalmed, 
outside  Boston  Harbor,  their  crews  lounging  over  the 
bulwarks  and  giving  us  a  parting  cheer  as  we  steamed 
seaward.  Some  of  us  were  in  high  spirits,  and  longed 
to  see  the  last  headland  of  America  vanish  beneath 
the  horizon ;  but  Hawthorne,  standing  on  the  deck 
with  his  hands  behind  him,  rebuked  this  unsentimen 
tal  mood,  and  intimated  that  we  should  view  with 
regret  the  disappearance  of  the  land  that  we  might 
never  see  again.  After  we  were  fairly  at  sea,  how 
ever,  his  gravity  lightened,  and  he  gave  himself  up  to 
the  free  enjoyment  of  the  ocean  he  so  dearly  loved. 
Though  his  forefathers  followed  the  sea,  and  he  him 
self  had  scarce  ever  lived  out  of  sight  of  blue  water, 
this  was  the  first  extended  voyage  that  Hawthorne 
had  ever  made,  and  he  found  the  fullest  satisfaction 
in  it  and  was  sorry  when  it  was  over.  He  never 


16  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

enjoyed  such  good  health  as  when  he  was  afloat, 
was  never  sea-sick,  spent  all  his  days  on  deck,  and 
was  never  weary  of  watching  the  dance  and  rush  of 
the  waves  and  the  changing  hues  and  the  lights  and 
shadows  of  sea  and  sky.  The  voyage  was,  compara 
tively,  an  uneventful  one ;  with  the  exception  of  one 
sharp  squall,  a  few  days  before  reaching  Liverpool,  it 
was  fine  weather  nearly  all  the  way.  The  only  jour 
nalizing  done  during  the  voyage  is  comprised  in  a 
brief  passage  in  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  note-book,  which 
I  subjoin. 

"  STEAMER  NIAGARA,  July  8,  1853, — This  morning 
at  one  o'clock  we  left  Halifax;  and  we  are  now 
careering  on  to  England  on  a  lovely  summer  sea, 
with  summer  air.  Yesterday  it  was  very  cold.  We 
entered  the  harbor  of  Halifax  at  eleven  last  night, 
and  Mr.  Hawthorne  and  Mr.  Ticknor  and  I  remained 
on  deck  to  see  all  we  could  by  the  light  of  stars 
and  lamps.  The  blue  lights  that  were  burned  on 
the  prow  and  on  shore  kindled  up  the  rigging  and 
fine  ropes  in  the  forepart  of  the  vessel,  and  against 
the  black-blue  sky  they  looked  like  spun  glass,  glit 
tering  and  white  and  wholly  defined.  The  most 
brilliant  stars,  with  a  fine  sharp  twinkle,  penetrated 
the  dark;  and  the  many  faces,  appearing  and  dis 
appearing  as  the  torchlight  waved  to  and  fro,  were 
very  picturesque.  The  salute  of  four  cannon  greeted 
the  Queen's  dominions,  and  Mr.  Ticknor  said  that 
two  were  for  my  husband.  There  was  no  fog,  which 
is  very  uncommon,  for  the  fogs  usually  delay  the 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND.  17 

steamers  both  in  entering  and  leaving  the  harbor. 
Oat  of  our  smoke-stack  poured  a  column  of  steam 
like  a  procession  of  snowy  plumes  waving  off  into 
the  distance;  relieved  against  the  deep-toned  sky, 
it  was  wonderfully  beautiful.  I  wished  to  go  to 
wards  the  gangway  of  the  steamer,  in  and  out  of 
which  many  people  were  passing  (for  we  landed  four 
teen  and  received  seventeen,  I  believe) ;  and,  behold  ! 
my  husband  pressed  on  to  the  pier  and  on  and  on 
up  into  the  streets  of  Halifax,  till  I  was  quite 
alarmed,  and  feared  we  should  not  get  back.  But 
I  have  really  been  to  Halifax  now !  Her  Majesty's 
subjects  stood  about  the  streets  and  on  the  pier. 
Then  we  went  to  our  state-rooms ;  but  I  did  not  sleep 
till  nearly  morning,  and  heard  the  parting  salute.  I 
was  very  sorry  not  to  see  Halifax  by  day,  or  at  least 
by  moonlight,  though  it  was  very  picturesque  by 
starlight  and  torchlight.  This  morning  it  is  milder 
weather,  and  there  is  a  fair  breeze.  We  have  lost 
the  British  Minister  Plenipotentiary,  who  landed  at 
Halifax  ;  and  I  do  not  see  our  unknown  friend  yet 
this  morning,  though  I  thought  he  was  going  to  Eng 
land.  I  miss  the  fine  presence  of  Mr.  Cramp  ton,  the 
Ambassador,  very  much  ;  and  I  liked  much  to  talk 
with  him.  This  deep  blue  circle  of  sea  is  untiringly 
beautiful  and  satisfactory.  We  still  .  .  .  [illegible] 
.  .  .  the  motion  makes  it  not  possible  to  write." 

—  On  the  18th  of  July,  or  thereabouts,  the  "Ni 
agara  "  came  to  anchor  in  the  Mersey,  and  it  was  a 
rainy  day.  Our  first  resting-place  on  English  soil 

VOL.  II.  2 


18  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

was  at  a  hotel  in  one  of  the  lower  streets  of  the 
city,  —  gloomy,  muddy,  and  grimy,  but  with  the 
charm  that  belongs  to  the  first  experience  of  a  for 
eign  land.  The  most  interesting  objects  to  the  chil 
dren  were,  however,  two  or  three  gigantic  turtles, 
lying  half  immersed  in  a  large  tank  in  the  basement 
of  the  hotel ;  it  did  not  seem  credible  that  such  crea 
tures  could  be  made  into  soup,  which  we  were  as 
sured  was  their  destiny.  They  were  very  different 
from  the  little  creatures  with  variegated  carapaces 
which  we  used  to  find  in  the  Concord  ditches  at 
home.  A  few  days  later  we  left  the  hotel,  and  went 
to  Mrs.  Blodgett's  hoarding-house,  in  Duke  Street, — 
unquestionably  the  most  comfortable,  reasonable,  hos 
pitable,  and  delightful  board  ing-house  that  ever  ex 
isted  before  or  since;  nor  has  nature  been  able  to 
afford  such  another  boarding-house  keeper  as  Mrs. 
Blodgett,  —  so  kind,  so  hearty,  so  generous,  so  un 
obtrusive,  so  friendly,  so  motherly.  Never,  certainly, 
has  the  present  writer  consumed  so  much  food  (in 
proportion  to  his  weight  and  size)  or  of  better  qual 
ity  than  it  was  his  good  fortune  to  do  during  his 
sojourn  beneath  this  excellent  lady's  roof.  She  was 
stout  and  rotund  of  figure,  rosy  and  smiling  of  coun 
tenance,  with  brown  curls  on  each '  side  of  her  face, 
a  clean  white  cap,  a  black  dress,  and  (for  the  most 
part)  a  white  apron.  She  also  wore  spectacles.  Her 
cuisine  was  superb;  her  servants  perfectly  disciplined; 
everything  went  with  the  regularity  and  certainty  of 
the  solar  system;  she  loved  all  her  boarders,  and 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND.  19 

they  all  loved  her.  Her  house  was  the  rallying-point 
of  the  better  class  of  American  captains  who  made 
voyages  to  Liverpool;  and  to  her  care  some  good 
friend  of  Hawthorne  recommended  him.  We  stayed 
there  only  a  month  on  this  first  occasion;  but  after 
wards,  when  Mrs.  Hawthorne  and  her  daughters  vis 
ited  Portugal  and  Madeira,  Hawthorne  returned  to 
Mrs.  Blodgett's  with  his  son;  and  they  lived  there,  in 
great  comfort  and  plenty,  the  better  part  of  a  year. 

Meanwhile  he  had  made  acquaintance  with  the 
Consulate,  and  with  his  duties  there,  which  are  suffi 
ciently  described  in  "  Our  Old  Home."  The  win 
dows  of  the  Consul's  office  were  on  the  left  as  you 
entered  the  room ;  the  large  double  desk-table  was 
placed  against  the  wall  between  them ;  and  Haw 
thorne  sat  facing  the  door.  The  opposite  side  of 
the  desk  was  unoccupied,  except  when  (as  occasion 
ally  happened)  the  Consul  had  taken  his  son  to  the 
office  with  him.  On  those  days  a  couple  of  volumes 
of  Congressional  Proceedings  were  placed  in  the  seat 
of  the  chair,  and  the  boy  mounted  upon  them,  thus 
bringing  his  head  at  an  elevation  above  the  table 
sufficient  to  admit  of  his  using  paper  and  pencil, 
scrawling  letters  to  his  relatives  in  America,  staring 
out  of  the  window  at  the  cotton  bales  going  up  the 
sides  of  the  opposite  warehouse  on  long  ropes,  —  an 
unfailing  resource  from  ennui,  —  and  pestering  his 
father  with  questions.  The  latter  generally  had  a 
book  with  him ;  and  often  it  was  a  book-catalogue, 
a  species  of  literature  which  he  was  very  fond  of 


20  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

reading.  He  had  been  elected  a  member  of  the 
Liverpool  Book  Society,  to  which  Roscoe  and  Shep- 
pard  had  once  belonged,  and  which  circulated  all 
its  books  among  its  members.  Sometimes  he  would 
take  paper  and  write,  driving  the  pen  rapidly,  with 
brief  intermittent  pauses,  and  making  corrections  by 
smearing  out  the  wrong  word  with  his  finger.  At 
other  times  he  would  pace  to  and  fro  across  the 
little  room,  with  his  head  bent  forward  and  his  hands 
behind  him;  or,  still  with  his  hands  behind  him, 
he  would  stand  in  front  of  the  fireplace,  his  feet 
apart,  now  swaying  forward  slightly  on  the  front 
part  of  his  feet  and  back  again,  now  giving  his  body 
a  sidewise  movement.  This  had  always  been  a  habit 
of  his,  and  is  connected  with  his  son's  earliest  mem 
ories  of  him.  It  was  before  the  fireplace  that  he 
usually  stood  when  receiving  a  deputation  of  sailors 
or  captains.  One  day  a  captain  —  a  dark,  short,  thick 
set  man  —  came  in  to  make  a  complaint  against  a 
sailor  who  had  assaulted  him  with  a  marlin-spike, 
or  some  such  nautical  weapon.  He  brought  with 
him  the  hat  he  had  worn  on  the  occasion,  —  a  di 
lapidated  "  stove-pipe,"  with  a  hole  crushed  through 
the  crown.  "  First,"  said  he,  "  there  's  my  hat !  " 
Hawthorne  glanced  at  it  and  said,  "  H'm  ! "  "  Next," 
continued  the  captain,  "  there 's  my  head ! "  and 
stooping  forward  he  parted  aside  his  hair  with  his 
hands,  and  exhibited  a  bloody  wound  on  the  scalp. 
"  H'm  ! "  said  Hawthorne  ;  but  instead  of  looking 
at  the  wound  he  turned  his  face  quite  away,  and 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND.  21 

kept  it  averted  until  the  captain,  satisfied  that  he 
had  been  sufficiently  inspected,  regained  his  per 
pendicular.  The  hoy  (who  did  see  the  head)  never 
forgot  the  incident,  because  it  was  for  many  years 
incomprehensible  to  him  how  his  father  could  have 
had  the  self-denial  voluntarily  to  abstain  from  ex 
amining  a  wound  in  a  man's  scalp. 

But  there  were  other  and  more  agreeable  visitors ; 
most  welcome  among  whom  was  Mr.  Henry  Bright, 
who  had  been  introduced  to  Hawthorne  in  Concord, 
by  Emerson,  in  the  autumn  of  1852,  and  who  came 
to  be  perhaps  the  most  intimate  of  his  English  friends. 
"  Bright,"  says  Hawthorne,  in  the  "  Consular  Experi 
ences,"  playing  upon  his  friend's  name, — "  Bright  was 
the  illumination  of  iny  dusky  little  apartment  as 
often  as  he  made  his  appearance  there."  Mr.  Bright 
seldom  used  to  sit  down,  but  stood  erect  on  the 
hearth-rug;  tall,  slender,  good-humored,  laughing,  vol 
uble  ;  with  his  English  eyeglass,  his  English  speech, 
and  his  English  prejudices;  arguing,  remonstrating, 
asserting,  contradicting,  —  certainly  one  of  the  most 
delightful,  and  delightfully  English,  Englishmen  that 
ever  lived.  And  Hawthorne  would  launch  at  him  such 
appalling  and  unsparing  home  truths  of  democracy 
and  republicanism  as  would  utterly  have  choked  and 
smothered  any  other  subject  of  her  Majesty;  but 
they  only  served  to  make  Mr.  Bright  laugh,  and  de 
clare  that  it  was  impossible  anybody  should  seriously 
entertain  such  opinions.  I  doubt  if  the  American 
Consul  ever  expressed  himself  to  any  one  else  so 


HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

forcibly,  explicitly,  and  fluently  as  he  did  to  this 
English  friend;  and  the  consequence  of  it  all  was, 
that  they  never  could  see  enough  of  each  other. 

At  one  o'clock  Hawthorne  would  sometimes  put 
on  his  hat  and  take  his  son  through  one  or  two  nar 
row  back-streets  to  a  certain  baker's  shop,  where  there 
was  a  lunch-counter  at  which  one  could  stand  and 
eat  excellent  bread  and  butter  and  cheese.  Or,  if  the 
day  were  fine,  and  there  were  nothing  going  on  at  the 
office,  they  would  go  to  the  museum,  or  the  Zoologi 
cal  Gardens,  or  to  some  other  place  of  amusement ; 
or  take  the  ferry-boat  and  steam  over  to  New  Brigh 
ton,  and  stroll  about  on  the  beach.  The  last  incident  of 
the  official  day  would  be  the  entrance  into  the  little 
office  of  old  Mr.  Pearce  or  young  Mr.  Wilding,  with 
a  paper  full  of  coin,  the  proceeds  of  the  day's  labor. 
The  gold  and  the  silver  Hawthorne  would  put  in  his 
pocket ;  but  if  there  were  any  coppers,  he  would 
hand  them  over  to  the  little  boy,  who  used  to  wish 
that  copper  had  been  the  only  current  coinage  of  the 
realm.  Then  they  would  walk  home  to  Duke  Street ; 
or,  after  the  final  change  of  residence,  go  down  to  the 
steamboat  landing,  and  get  into  the  "  Bee "  or  the 
"  Wasp,"  and  be  steam-paddled  over  to  Eock  Ferry, 
about  two  miles  up  the  muddy  river.  On  Sundays 
Mrs.  Hawthorne,  with  the  two  elder  children,  would 
go  to  the  Unitarian  Chapel  in  Renshaw  Street,  and 
listen  to  eloquent  sermons  from  the  Eev.  W.  H. 
Charming,  the  American;  but  Hawthorne  himself 
never  attended  church,  that  I  remember. 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND.  23 

Rock  Ferry  was  a  pretty,  green,  quiet  be-villa'd 
little  suburb,  consisting*  of  one  large  hotel  and  a 
number  of  small  private  residences.  Hawthorne  first 
moved  to  the  hotel ;  but  on  the  1st  of  September  he 
took  up  his  permanent  abode  in  a  villa  in  "  Rock 
Park,"  a  house  (writes  Mrs.  Hawthorne  in  her  journal) 
"in  castellated  form,  of  stone,  with  large  pleasant 
rooms,  a  pretty,  trim  garden,  and  tolerably  furnished." 
But  it  is  time  to  insert  the  following  batch  of  letters. 
The  first  is  from  Henry  Bright. 

CONISTON,  Sept.  1,  1853. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  You  see  I  am  taking  you  at  your 
word,  and  am  about  to  inflict  a  letter  upon  you. 
However,  should  your  patience  fail  before  getting  to 
the  end  of  it,  why,  then  consign  it  to  the  river 
Mersey  as  you  recross  in  the  evening  to  Rock 
Ferry,  and  exonerate  me  from  my  promise.  We 
are  delighted  with  our  quarters  here,  —  a  most  com- 
fo'rtable  hotel,  with  the  calm,  clear  lake  in  front  of 
us,  and  such  a  grand,  weather-worn  old  mountain 
behind.  Nothing  could  be  better,  if  only  —  a  sadly 
too  important  "  if  "  —  it  would  stop  raining.  With 
the  exception  of  Monday,  it's  rained  for  a  blessed 
week,  and  we  are  boxed  up,  the  whole  day  and  the 
whole  family,  in  one  hotel  parlor.  This  is  not  the 
most  exhilarating  existence  in  the  world,  as  you  may 
imagine.  Our  chief  amusements  are  letter-writing 
and  oat- cake  eating;  my  sisters  sketch  out  of  win 
dow,  and  I  read  up  for  an  article  I  'm  contemplating 


24  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

on  De  Quincey  for  the  "Westminster."  Post-time 
is  of  course  particularly  welcome,  —  I  need  hardly 
say  how  welcome,  were  you  some  day  to  spare  me 
some  few  lines,  if  only  to  say  how  you  all  are,  and 
how  the  mayoral  hospitalities  went  off,  and  whether 
you  have  yet  found  a  house.  By  the  way,  I  heard 
from  one  of  my  American  friends  the  other  day,  — 
Charles  Morton ;  he  gives  a  very  poor  account  of 
his  father's  health,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  The  Professor 
must  now,  I  suppose,  be  an  old  man;  but  still  it  grieves 
one  to  hear  of  the  increasing  weakness  of  one  whose 
writings  we  English  Unitarians  (at  least)  hold  in 
such  esteem,  and  for  whose  character  we  have  so 
great  respect. 

Among  the  drawbacks  of  this  wretched  weather 
is  that  I  have  not  yet  been  able  to  get  to  Ambleside 
to  see  Miss  Martineau.  When  she  has  dined  with 
us,  or  been  at  all  to  Liverpool,  I  have  always  missed 
her  by  being  at  Cambridge ;  and  I  own  myself  a 
little  curious  to  hear  from  her,  viva  voce,  some  of  her 
experiences.  Her  latest  "  craze "  (to  use  a  word  of 
De  Quiucey's)  is  the  establishment  of  a  shop  in 
London  for  the  sale  of  —  in  plain  English  —  infidel 
literature.  She  complained  most  bitterly  the  other 
day  to  my  brother-in-law  that  whenever  her  book  on 
"Man's  Nature  and  Development"  is  inquired  for, 
the  shopman  pulls  it  stealthily  out  from  under  the 
counter,  as  if  ashamed  of  selling  it,  and  fearful  lest 
some  bystander  be  scandalized ;  so  that  there's  to  be 
a  shop  in  a  central  situation  full  of  Miss  Martineau, 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND.  25 

and  Auguste  Comte,  and  Froude,  who  wrote  the  "  Ne 
mesis  of  Faith,"  and  Frank  Newman,  who  wrote 
"Phases  of  Faith;"  and  (as  Clough  said)  the  world  is 
to  receive  the  unbiassed  truth  "  that  there 's  no  God, 
and  Harriet  is  his  prophet." 

William  Gray  is  also  at  the  lakes;  he  is  busily 
occupied  in  an  article  on  "  Madame  de  Stael  "  for  (I 
think)  the  "North  British;"  and  another  on  the 
"  New  Reform  Bill"  for  the  "  Edinburgh,"  which  is  to 
feel  the  public's  pulse  on  the  question,  for  the  Gov 
ernment's  guidance. 

The  only  author — and  she  is  now  all  but  forgotten 

wno  ever  dwelt  at  Coniston  was  a  Miss  Elizabeth 

Smith,  friend  of  Hannah  More,  and  mentioned  in 
all  books  about  British  authoresses  or  the  English 
Lakes,  as  the  female  Mezzofanti  of  her  time,  "  a  living 
polyglot."  She  only  wrote  translations  of  Job  and 
such  like,  and  is  known  chiefly  through  the  kind 
offices  of  others,  and  their  fond  memory  of  her  as  a 
woman.  Tennyson,  however,  sometimes  visits  Conis 
ton,  staying  with  a  Mr.  Marshall  who  owns  a  beauti 
ful  place  at  the  head  of  the  lake.  The  Marslialls  are 
now  from  home ;  so  last  evening  we  strolled  through 
their  grounds  (last  evening  having  actually  three 
rainless  hours  of  its  own).  These  grounds  are  nearly 
perfect ;  the  park  with  its  fine  park  trees  is  backed 
by  hills  covered  with  larch  wood,  and  topped  by 
mountains  of  bare  gray  crag,  with  some  few  purple 
patches  of  heather  coloring  them  every  here  and 
there.  As  we  came  back  from  our  walk,  about  eight 


26  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

o'clock,  we  found  a  party  of  miners  from  the  copper- 
mines  above,  rowing  along  in  front  of  the  hotel,  and 
playing  on  some  half-dozen  wind  instruments  in  most 
capital  time  and  time  ;  arid  whenever  they  stopped 
for  a  moment,  the  "  Old  Man  "  mountain  sent  hack 
upon  tlie  lake  the  most  jubilant  of  echoes,  repeating 
and  vying  with  the  music  of  the  horns.  But  now 
I  spare  you  any  more,  —  indeed,  I've  but  little  more 
to  tell;  for  I  could  not,  "an  I  would,"  describe  the 
spot  which  we  visited  on  Monday,  and  which  is  im 
mortalized  in  "  Christabel."  It  is  a  gloriously  wild 
fell ! — and  since  Monday  we  have  done  nothing.  Pray 
remember  me  most  kindly  to  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  and 
tell  the  children  that  they  are  not  to  forget  me. 
Believe  me,  dear  sir,  yours  very  faithfully, 

HENRY  A.  BRIGHT. 

Is  the  English  edition  of  "  Tangle  wood  Tales"  out 
yet? 

—  The  next  extracts  are  from  Mrs.  Hawthorne  to 
her  father. 

MY  DEAREST  FATHER, — I  was  afraid  I  should  not 
have  time  to  write  to  you  by  the  "  Canada  "  and  Mr. 
Ticknor;  but  accidentally  he  lias  not  arrived  from 
Chester  so  early  as  I  expected,  so  I  have  time  to 
say  a  few  words.  We  were  all  to  go  to  Chester  to 
gether  to-day;  but  the  weather  was  so  threatening 
that  the  rest  of  us  stayed  behind,  and  only  Mr.  Haw 
thorne  and  Mr.  Ticknor  went.  On  Wednesday  Mr. 
Henry  Bright  came  over  to  dine.  He  visited  Miss 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND.  27 

Martineau  at  Ambleside,  and  found  her  very  enter 
taining,  and  in  a  very  singular  state  of  doctrine,  — 
for  she  now  professes  to  believe  and  declare  that  there 
is  no  God  and  no  future  life!  He  says  it  is  wholly 
impossible  to  argue  with  her,  because  she  is  so  opin- 
ionative  and  dogmatical,  and  has  such  a  peculiar  ad 
vantage  in  putting  down  her  ear-trumpet  when  she 
does  not  choose  to  hear  any  reply  to  her  assertions. 
She  has  been  making  some  beautiful  designs  for  the 
windows  of  her  brother's  church  in  Liverpool,  which 
are  accepted  and  to  be  painted  thereupon ;  but  she 
is  at  enmity  with  her  brother,  and  has  no  intercourse 
with  him.  Tennyson  often  visites  Coniston,  but  was 
not  to  be  seen  at  that  time,  and  seldom  is  to  be  seen 
at  any  time,  being  "vox  et  prseterea  nihil."  Mr. 
Bright  says  that  he  and  his  family  were  imprisoned 
a  great  deal  in  the  hotel  by  rain,  but  yet  enjoyed 
themselves ;  and  his  sisters  sketched  out  of  window. 
Mr.  Ticknor  has  been  to  see  Mr.  De  Quincey,  and 
says  he  is  a  noble  old  man  and  eloquent,  and  wins 
hearts  in  personal  intercourse.  His  three  daughters, 
Margaret,  Florence,  and  Emily,  are  also  very  attrac 
tive  and  cultivated,  and  they  are  all  most  impatient 
to  see  Mr.  Hawthorne. 

We  feel  pretty  much  in  order  now  in  our  house. 
My  dinner-party  on  Wednesday  went  off  quite  ele 
gantly.  When  the  gentlemen  joined  me  in  the  draw 
ing-room,  I  had  some  tea  ready  for  them,  and  Una 
requested  to  be  the  Hebe  of  the  banquet.  Mr.  Bright 
thought  it  was  lovely  to  have  such  an  attendant. 


28  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

He  told  us  all  about  the  gayeties  of  Liverpool,  —  the 
splendid  balls  and  concerts.  There  is  one  ball  given 
by  the  Eoman  Catholic  nobility  and  gentry,  which 
is  a  dazzling  display  of  old  family  diamonds.  So  I 
can  go  there  and  see  a  galaxy  of  stars,  as  well  as  if 
I  went  to  the  prorogation  of  Parliament,.  He  says 
the  old  dowagers  blaze  with  jewels.  But  there  is 
something  more  interesting  than  balls  and  jewels  to 
be  told  of  England  now.  The  nation  seems  awak 
ened  to  the  importance  of  reform  in  several  impor 
tant  matters.  One  is  the  state  of  the  gaols,  which  is 
frightful.  The  torture  and  cruelty  are  lately  discovered 
to  be  awful,  and  the  governors  and  minor  officers 
are  brought  for  trial  before  the  courts.  The  revela 
tions  are  appalling ;  and  as  light  breaks  in  upon  the 
diabolical  practices,  they  must  be  put  an  end  to. 
The  "  Times"  also  is  now  full  of  the  extortion  of  hotel- 
keepers,  and  hundreds  of  letters  from  private  indi 
viduals  are  printed  to  show  how  dishonest  the  charges 
are  and  have  been.  The  pent-up  wrath  and  indigna 
tion  of  all  the  victims  of  this  high  rate  of  charge 
seem  to  burst  forth  at  this  first  chance,  and  it  will 
not  cease  till  there  is  a  change.  The  customs  and 
railroads  are  also  under  a  keen  inspection,  for  many 
accidents  on  railroads  happen  here  also,  —  loss  of 
life  from  carelessness ;  and  the  shareholders  com 
plain  much  that  though  the  receipts  are  enormous, 
they  get  no  dividends,  and  want  to  know  where  the 
money  is.  A  great  many  new  and  old  abuses  seem 
to  be  undergoing  repairs  on  a  sudden.  The  Queen's 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND.  29 

visit  to  Ireland  is  considered  of  great  moment.  Ire 
land  is  reviving  from  various  causes ;  and  one  cause 
is  the  potato- blight  itself !  The  immense  immigration 
has  thinned  the  population,  and  the  Irish  in  America 
have  sent  really  vast  sums  of  money  to  their  friends  ; 
and  this  Mr.  Dargon  rises  up  all  at  once  like  a  sa 
vior  to  the  land.  It  will  be  deeply  interesting  to 
watch  on  the  spot  all  these  progressive  movements; 
and  the  "Times"  is  an  extraordinary  organ  of  expres 
sion  for  all  good  things.  It  is  very  just  generally,  I 
think  (it  is  not  of  much  importance  what  I  think, 
however),  and  seems  full  of  humanity  and  wisdom. 

Last  week  Mr.  Hawthorne  was  invited  to  dine 
with  the  magistrate  in  West  Derby,  and  he  met 
there  a  gentleman  who  wishes  to  introduce  him  to 
the  two  sons  of  Burns,  and  to-morrow  evening  is  the 
time  appointed.  I  expect  another  dinner-party  this 
evening,  and  must  now  go  and  dress.  Mr.  Ticknor 
came  from  London  rich  in  gifts :  to  Julian,  a  superb 
book,  called  "  The  Country  Year  Book,"  with  a  hun 
dred  and  forty  fine  engravings ;  to  Una,  a  green  and 
gold  morocco  portfolio  with  "Una"  in  gilt  letters 
impressed  upon  it,  and  quires  of  note  paper  and  en- 
'velopes;  to  Kosebud,  a  real  waxen  doll;  to  Mr. 
Hawthorne,  a  pair  of  superfine  razors,  made  to  order 
in  Sheffield,  with  ivory  handles,  and  "  N.  Hawthorne  " 
finely  marked  in  the  steel  of  the  blades ;  and  to  me, 
a  case  of  scissors  made  for  me  in  Sheffield,  with  my 
name  on  the  blade  of  each,  and  a  very  superb  book 
of  Flowers.  .  SOPHIA. 


30  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

"...  It  takes  a  great  while  every  day  to  keep  so 
large  a  house  as  this  of  ours  in  proper  order.  The 
children  dine  and  sup  at  separate  hours  from  ours. 
They  have  their  supper  after  our  dinner;  so  the  table 
has  to  be  laid  four  times.  Mr.  Hawthorne  eats  a 
biscuit  in  his  consulate  office  at  noon,  and  I  eat  a 
morsel  of  bread  at  the  children's  dinner.  But  oh,  no, 
dear  father,  we  do  not  '  live  in  grand  style/  neither 
do  we  intend  to  have  much  company.  We  could 
not  afford  it ;  for,  though  so  many  persons  at  home, 
who  might  be  supposed  to  know,  account  the  con 
sular  income  here  to  be  so  great,  and  the  arrival  of 
ships  so  abundant,  they  are  sadly  mistaken.  Eliza 
beth  wrote  me  last  week  that  the  number  of  ships 
that  arrived  from  the  United  States  to  Liverpool  was 
nearly  ten  thousand,  from  each  one  of  which  Mr. 
Hawthorne  must  receive  four  dollars,  making  at  once 
forty  thousand  dollars  a  year.  So  far  is  this  from 
the  truth,  that  it  is  really  funny  and  melancholy  at 
the  same  time.  Instead  of  ten  thousand  ships,  not 
quite  seven  hundred  arrive  yearly  from  the  United 
States  here ;  and  so,  instead  of  the  income  from  the 
vessels  being  forty  thousand  dollars,  it  is  not  quite 
twenty-eight  hundred  dollars.  Most  of  the  income 
comes  from  the  invoices  of  the  great  steamers.  Ten 
and  twelve  thousand  dollars  has  been  hitherto  the 
amount  of  the  whole  yearly,  income  from  whatever 
source,  —  about  a  quarter  part  of  the  estimate  made 
of  it.  It  is  hoped  that  the  business  may  increase; 
but  perhaps  it  will  be  too  late  for  us.  And  Mr. 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND.  31 

Hawthorne  must  lay  aside  a  good  part  of  this  income, 
or  we  shall  return  ruined,  not  benefited,  by  this 
office;  for  he  cannot  write,  and  all  that  would  remain 
for  us  would  be  the  '  Wayside,'  which  would  be  a 
home,  but  not  bread  and  butter  and  clothes  and 
means  of  educating  the  children.  Living  is  much 
more  expensive  here  than  at  home :  meat  never 
below  fourteen  cents,  and  some  kinds  twenty  cents ; 
potatoes  thirty  cents  a  peck ;  no  tea  below  a  dollar 
a  pound ;  grapes  are  a  penny  apiece,  and  the  fruit 
here  is  not  good.  England  cannot  grow  fruit,  with  a 
sun  crying  its  eyes  out  every  day. 

"  We  gain  one  thing  here,  and  that  is  an  open  fire 
place.  Coal  is  comparatively  cheap,  and  it  blazes 
delightfully,  and  we  can  really  sit  round  a  glowing 
hearth.  Mr.  Hawthorne  truly  enjoys  it.  It  is  what 
he  always  wanted.  It  is  certainly  a  gloomy  custom 
to  bury  the  fire  in  tombstones,  and  then  set  up  the 
graves  on  our  very  hearths.  Over  our  marble  mantel 
piece  hangs  Mr.  John  Campbell,  the  former  occupant 
of  this  house,  now  dead.  He  was  "Scotch,  and  per 
haps  of  the  family  of  the  noble  Campbells.  He  was 
a  gentleman  of  fortune.  He  is  not  a  very  lovely  look 
ing  person,  but  yet  angelic  compared  to  his  brother, 
who  hangs  opposite  him,  and  who  looks  as  if  he 
would  keep  his  mother  on  very  short  allowance.  In 
the  recesses  on  each  side  the  fireplace  are  pictures,  — 
one  a  Magdalene  in  an  oval  frame,  and  the  other  an 
Italian  scene  in  a  hexagon  frame.  Opposite  the  two 
tall  windows,  which  open  to  the  floor,  hang  two  fruit- 


32  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

pieces  and  a  landscape  with  figures.  Not  one  of  any 
of  these  pictures  is  good.  Beneath  Mr.  William 
Campbell  is  the  sideboard,  upon  which  stands  a 
pretty  tea  urn,  which  you  may  one  day  see,  as  we 
shall  take  it  home.  I  am  writing  at  a  great  centre- 
table,  at  which  we  dine.  It  is  as  heavy  as  a  small 
planet ;  for  in  England  things  are  made  solid,  not  half 
pine.  The  chairs  are  also  solid,  and  cost  much  pain 
to  lift.  Two  or  three  lounging-chairs,  a  light  mahog 
any  stand  for  the  dinner-tray,  and  a  very  rich  Brussels 
carpet  of  dark  blue,  brown,  and  rose  colors  complete 
the  furnishing  of  the  dining-room.  There  are  full 
blue  and  orange  damask  curtains  to  the  windows, 
hanging  from  a  broad  gilded  cornice  with  a  valance 
and  fringe,  which  set  off  the  room  very  well.  There 
are,  besides,  an  alabaster  vase  beneath  Mr.  John 
Campbell's  picture,  a  bronze  vase  in  which  is  always 
a  rose,  two  bronze  candlesticks,  and  just  now  our  new 
Taylor's  moderator  lamp,  which  is  as  tall  as  Bunker 
Hill  Monument,  and  looks  like  a  lighthouse." 

—  It  takes  some  time  to  get  accustomed  to  the 
rain  and  clouds  in  England;  and  as  to  the  people, 
Hawthorne's  acquaintance  with  them  was  not  as 
yet  extensive ;  he  had  seen  them  for  the  most  part 
only  superficially.  He  wandered  about  Liverpool 
streets,  and  saw  the  shops  and  the  public  buildings, 
the  well-to-do  population  and  the  poor;  he  ate 
dinners  with  the  mayor,  and  made  speeches ;  he 
visited  hospitals  and  asylums  in  the  interests  of 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND. 

American  seamen  (genuine  or  spurious)  ;  and  once  in 
a  while  he  went  on  little  excursions  with  Henry 
Bright,  or  spent  a  night  at  the  latter's  house  (Sancl- 
heys),  or  at  Norris  Green,  the  residence  of  the  Hey- 
woods,  relatives  of  Mr.  Bright.  But  he  did  not  like 
Liverpool,  and  he  had  not  as  yet  made  up  his  mind 
whether  or  not  to  like  the  English  people.  Speak 
ing  of  Grace  Greenwood's  departure  for  America, 
after  a  year  spent  in  England,  lie  says :  "  Her  health 
seemed  not  good,  nor  her  spirits  buoyant.  This 
doubtless  is  partly  due  to  her  regret  in  leaving 
England,  where  she  has  met  with  great  kindness, 
and  the  manners  and  institutions  of  which  she  likes 
rather  better,  I  suspect,  than  an  American  ought. 
She  speaks  rapturously  of  the  English  hospitality 
and  warmth  of  heart.  I  likewise  have  already  experi 
enced  something  of  this,  and  apparently  have  a  good 
deal  more  of  it  at  my  option.  I  wonder  how  far  it 
is  genuine,  and  in  what  degree  it  is  better  than  the 
superficial  good-feeling  with  which  Yankees  receive 
foreigners, —  a  feeling  not  calculated  for  endurance, 
but  a  good  deal  like  a  brushwood  fire.  We  shall 
see  ! " 

One  gloomy  winter's  day,  Mr.  Francis  Bennoch 
(who  tells  the  story)  called  on  Hawthorne  at  Kock 
Park,  and  found  him  in  a  chair  before  the  fire  in 
the  sitting-room,  prodding  the  black  coals  in  a  dis 
heartened  fashion  with  the  poker.  "Give  me  the 
poker,  my  dear  sir!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bennoch,  "and 
I'll  give  you  a  lesson."  He  seized  the  implement 

VOL.  II.  3 


34  HA  WTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

from  Hawthorne's  hand,  and  delivered  two  or  three 
vigorous  and  well-aimed  thrusts  straight  to  the  centre 
of  the  dark  smouldering  mass,  which  straightway  sent 
forth  a  rustling  luxuriance  of  brilliant  flame.  "That's 
the  way  to  get  the  warmth  out  of  an  English  fire," 
cried  Mr.  Bennoch,  "and  that's  the  way  to  get  the 
warmth  out  of  an  English  heart  too !  Treat  us  like 
that,  my  dear  sir,  and  you  '11  find  us  all  good  fellows  !" 
Hereupon  Hawthorne  brightened  up  as  jovially  as 
the  fire,  and  (Mr.  Bennoch  thinks)  thought  better  of 
England  ever  after. 

Mr.  Bright  and  Mr.  Bennoch  were,  at  all  events, 
the  men  of  all  others  to  bring  him  acquainted  with 
the  brighter  and  n-ore  genial  aspects  of  the  Old 
Country;  they  were  overflowing  with  activity  and 
energy,  and  insisted  upon  making  Hawthorne  do 
things  which  he  would  never  have  undertaken  of  his 
own  accord,  but  which,  being  done,  he  was  very  glad 
to  have  accomplished,  On  one  occasion  he  dined 
in  company  with  the  two  sons  of  the  poet  Burns. 
"Late  in  the  evening,"  he  writes,  "Mr.  Aikin  and 
most  of  the  gentlemen  retired  to  the  smoking-room, 
where  we  found  brandy,  whiskey,  and  some  good 
cigars.  The  sons  of  the  poet  showed,  I  think,  an 
hereditary  appreciation  of  good  liquor,  both  at  the 
dinner-table  (where  they  neglected  neither  sherry, 
port,  hock,  champagne,  nor  claret)  and  here  in  the 
smoking-room.  Both  of  them,  however,  drank  brandy, 
instead  of  the  liquor  which  their  father  has  immortal 
ized.  The  Colonel  smoked  cigars;  the  Major  filled 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND  35 

and  refilled  a  German  pipe.  Neither  of  them  (nor,  in 
fact,  anybody  else)  was  at  all  the  worse  for  liquor; 
but  I  thought  I  saw  a  little  of  the  coarser  side  of 
Burns  in  the  rapturous  approbation  with  which  the 
Major  responded  to  a  very  good,  but  rather  indecorous 
story  from  one  of  Ihe  gentlemen.  But  I  liked  them 
both,  and  they  liked  me."  And,  in  general,  his  con 
clusion  was  that  the  worst  of  an  Englishman  is  his 
outside,  and  that  to  know  him  better  is  to  like  him 
better  too. 

Of  course,  the  chief  ostensible  bonds  of  sympathy 
between  him  and  his  English  friends  were  wrought 
from  his  literary  achievements;  they  were  never  tired 
of  telling  him  how  much  they  admired  his  books. 
"  I  have  to-day  received,"  writes  Mary  Eussell  Mit- 
ford,  "a  copy  of  another  of  those  charming  books 
by  which,  in  addition  to  that  walk  of  prose  poetry 
which  is  so  peculiarly  your  own  and  which  repro 
duces  in  so  exquisite  a  manner  the  history,  you 
have  contrived  to  blend  your  own  name  with  some 
of  those  lovely  classical  fables  which  are  among  the 
most  valuable  bequests  of  the  Greek  poets.  How 
many  thousands  will  think  of  you  as  the  name  of 
some  glorious  old  classical  legend  comes  across  them ! 
It  is  a  fine  thing  to  make  a  holiday  book  of  that 
which  to  schoolboys  has  too  often  been  a  dry  lesson ; 
and  the  popularity  which  is  sure  to  follow  it  was 
never  more  richly  earned.  .  .  .  Very  little  of  me  is 
now  available,  except  the  head  and  the  heart ;  but  I 
hope  next  spring,  if  not  before,  to  have  the  great 


36  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

pleasure  of  making  the  personal  acquaintance  of  one 
whom  I  can  never  think  of  except  as  a  friend." 

There  were  many  similar  assurances  of  good  feeling 
continually  coining  in  from  all  sides;  and  Hawthorne 
was  far  from  being  insensible  to  such  kindness.  He 
even  seems  to  have  desired  to  bring  some  of  his  own 
countrymen  into  similar  pleasant  relations  with  the 
British  public.  "  I  send  you,"  he  writes  to  Henry 
Bright,  "an  American  book,  'Up-Country  Letters,' 
which  I  beg  you  to  read,  and  hope  you  will  like.  It 
would  gratify  me  much  if  you  would  talk  about  it  or 
write  about  it,  and  get  it  into  some  degree  of  notice 
in  this  country.  England,  within  two  or  three  years 
past,  has  read  and  praised  a  hundred  American  books 
that  do  not  deserve  it  half  so  well;  but  I  somewhat 
question  whether  the  English  mind  is  not  rather  too 
bluff  and  beefy  to  appreciate  the  peculiar  charm  of 
these  letters.  Yet  w<*  have  produced  nothing  more 
original  nor  more  genuine." 

I  will  conclude  this  chapter  with  extracts  from 
Mrs.  Hawthorne's  letters  to  her  father. 

JANUARY  19. 

Yesterday  and  to-day  summer  has  made  us  in  Eng 
land  a  flying  visit.  There  was  lovely  sunshine  this 
afternoon,  and  this  morning  the  birds  were  in  full 
chorus.  In  two  weeks  we  shall  have  snowdrops  and 
crocuses;  and  to-day  we  found  in  the  garden  a  full 
blown  pansy !  An  English  lady,  who  called  here, 
said  it  was  "  very  close  "  out  of  doors,  as  if  it  were  a 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND.  37 

dog-day ;  but  yet  it  was  agreeable  to  me  to  sit  by  the 
fire.  One  might  imagine  that  the  angry  Czar  had 
sent  his  snow  and  cold  as  Christinas  presents  to  the 
rest  of  Europe,  however.  To-day  has  come  the  news 
of  his  rejection  of  the  note,  and  therefore  it  is  War  ; 
and  we  shall  probably  be  witnesses  of  the  greatest 
revolution  that  has  ever  yet  convulsed  the  world. 
The  English  seem  to  be  in  some  puzzle  how  to  man 
their  ships  of  war,  and  how  to  contrive  to  have  com 
manding  officers  to  rule  them,  who  are  of  fit  age  and 
prowess.  But  I  suppose  Parliament  will  arrange  all 
the  difficulties.  The  Emperor  Nicholas  has  spies  all 
over  Europe,  —  noble  ladies  as  well  as  men  in  every 
society,  in  every  court,  who  sow  any  kind  of  rumor 
and  listen  to  everything.  I  never  heard  of  such 
extraordinary  espionage.  The  ladies  accept  his  dia 
monds  in  return  for  being  eavesdroppers  and  tools ; 
but  I  suspect  his  vast  network  of  gold  and  jewels 
will  be  early  rent  asunder.  Somehow  or  other,  I 
could  never  feel  that  the  Czar  was  potent  or  fearful. 
He  is  a  great  north  wind,  —  a  northeast  wind  for 
Europe, — but  a  wind  is  emptiness  when  bravely  met. 
Eussia  always  seemed  to  me  mere  brute  force.  I 
have  read  lately  such  appalling  accounts  of  the  suf 
fering  and  oppression  of  the  people,  that  I  think  it 
is  probably  the  hour  for  God  to  send  his  judgments 
down.  It  is  anomalous,  I  hear,  for  a  Kussian  to 
speak  the  truth,  and  a  matter  of  course  for  him  to 
cheat  and  deceive. 

Julian   returned   with    papa   from   Liverpool   the 


38  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

other  day  with  four  masks,  with  which  we  made  merry. 
One  was  the  face  of  a  simpleton ;  and  that  was  very 
funny  upon  papa,  —  such  a  transformation  I  Mary 
Herne  frightened  Emily  (cook)  nearly  out  of  her  wits, 
by  putting  one  on  one  morning  in  the  early  dusk  and 
sitting  down  quietly  in  the  kitchen.  Emily  came 
along  with  her  candle,  and  stumbled  upon  this  glaring 
face  of  forlornness.  "  Oh,  I  'm  dead  ! "  said  Emily. 

Mr.  Henry  Bright  entertained  us  with  an  account 
of  a  magnificent  fancy  ball  which  came  off  at  Liver 
pool  last  Friday.  He  himself  personated  his  ances 
tor,  Sir  Kenelm  Digby,  and  nearly  died  beneath  a 
heavy,  long,  curled  black  wig,  and  a  hat  upon  the 
top  of  it;  heated  besides  as  he  was  by  dancing 
nineteen  times.  His  sword  tore  a  lady's  dress  and 
assailed  various  persons  while  standing  out  straight 
in  the  whirling  waltz.  He  had  a  distracting  head 
ache,  and  did  not  get  home  till  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  People  were  powdered  and  rouged  and 
patched  so  as  to  be  quite  disguised.  He  said  he  had 
not  the  slightest  idea  who  the  Earl  of  Sefton's  son 
was,  even  when  he  spoke  to  him,  though  he  knows 
him  very  well  indeed.  One  of  the  Ladies  Mainwar- 
ing  wras  there,  blazing  with  diamonds,  and  Nebuchad 
nezzar,  and  Sardanapalus,and  all  kinds  of  past  worthies 
and  dignitaries.  He  said  his  aunt  Hey  wood,  of  Nor- 
ris,  was  to  have  another  fancy  ball  at  her  house 
to-morrow,  and  she  wanted  us  to  go  to  it.  But  I 
cannot  leave  home,  and  Mr.  Hawthorne  will  not  rig 
himself  up  in  any  strange  finery.  Mrs.  Heywood  is 


FIRST  MONTHS  IN  ENGLAND.  39 

a  very  warm  admirer  of  Mr.  Hawthorne's  books,  and 
though  her  law  is  that  no  one  shall  enter  her  draw 
ing-rooms  that  night  except  in  fancy  dress,  she  said 
Mr.  Hawthorne  should  go  just  as  he  liked,  in  a  black 
coat  if  he  preferred  it.  But  he  will  not. 


40  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 


CHAPTER   II. 

FROM  THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON. 

EARLY  in  1854  Hawthorne  met  a  gentleman  who 
was  at  that  period  somewhat  distinguished  in  litera 
ture  ;  and  he  gave  the  following  account  of  him  :  — 

"Dined  with  Mr.  Bramley  Moore,  to  meet  Mr.  War 
ren,  author  of  '  Ten  Thousand  a  Year.'  There  were 
eight  or  ten  gentlemen  at  dinner,  principally  lawyers 
now  attending  the  assizes,  and  of  no  great  interest. 
Mr.  Warren  is  a  man  (on  his  own  authority)  of  forty- 
six  ;  not  tall  nor  large,  with  a  pale,  rather  thin,  and 
intelligent  face,  —  American  more  than  English  in  its 
aspect,  except  that  his  nose  is  more  prominent  than 
ordinary  American  noses,  as  most  English  noses  are. 
He  is  Eecorder  of  Hull,  an  office  which  he  says  brings 
him  but  little ;  nor  does  he  get  much  practice  as  a 
barrister  on  account  of  the  ill-will  of  the  attorneys, 
who  consider  themselves  aggrieved  by  his  depictures 
of  Quick,  Gammon,  and  Snap. 

"  On  the  whole,  the  dinner  was  not  a  very  agreeable 
one.  I  led  in  Mrs.  Bramley  Moore  (the  only  lady 
present).  The  family  are  violent  tories,  fanatics  for 
the  Established  Church,  and  followers  of  Dr.  McMill, 
who  is  the  present  Low-Church  pope  of  Liverpool.  I 


FROM  THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON.  41 

could  see  little  to  distinguish  her  from  a  rigidly  ortho 
dox  and  Calvinistic  woman  of  New  England ;  for  they 
accjuire  the  same  characteristics  from  their  enmity 
to  the  Puseyite  movement  and  Roman  Catholic  ten 
dencies  of  the  present  day.  The  eatables  >  and  the 
drinkables  were  very  praiseworthy ;  and  Mr.  Bramley 
Moore  circulated  his  wines  more  briskly  than  is  cus 
tomary  at  gentlemen's  tables.  He  seems  to  be  rich, 
has  property  in  the  Brazils  (where  he  was  at  one  time 
resident),  has  been  Mayor  of  Liverpool,  an  unsuccess 
ful  candidate  for  Parliament,  and  now  lives  at  a  very 
pretty  place.  But  he  alludes  to  the  cost  of  wines 
and  of  other  things  that  he  possesses,  —  a  frailty 
which  I  have  not  observed  in  any  other  Englishman 
of  good  station.  He  is  a  moderately  bulky  and  rather 
round-shouldered  man,  with  a  kindly  face  enough, 
and  seems  to  be  a  passably  good  man  ;  but  I  hope, 
on  the  whole,  that  he  will  not  ask  me  to  dinner  any 
more,  —  though  his  dinners  are  certainly  very  good. 

"  Mr.  Warren,  nevertheless,  turned  out  agreeably ; 
he  sat  opposite  to  me,  and  I  observed  that  he  took 
champagne  very  freely,  not  waiting  till  Mr.  Bramley 
Moore  should  suggest  it,  or  till  the  servants  should 
periodically  offer  it,  but  inviting  his  neighbors  to  a 
glass  of  wine.  Neither  did  he  refuse  hock,  nor  any 
thing  else  that  came  round.  He  was  talkative,  and 
mostly  about  himself  and  his  writings,  —  which  I 
have  no  objection  to  in  a  writer,  knowing  that  if  he 
talks  little  .of  himself,  he  perhaps  thinks  the  more. 
It  is  a  trait  of  simplicity  that  ought  not  to  be  so 


42  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

scouted  as  it  generally  is.  Mr.  Warren  said  nothing 
very  brilliant;  but  yet  there  was  occasionally  a  chara- 
pagny  frothiness  of  his  spirits,  that  enlivened  us 
more  than  anything  else  at  table.  He  told  a  laugh 
able  story  about  an  American  who  had  seen  a  portrait 
of  Warren's  father,  which  was  prefixed  to  an  American 
edition  of  his  works  as  his  own,  and  was  perplexed 
at  the  dissimilarity  between  this  effigy  of  an  old  be- 
wigged  clergyman  and  the  clapper,  youthful  person 
age  before  him.  He  appears  to  feel  very  kindly 
towards  the  Americans,  and  says  somebody  has  sent 
him  some  of  the  Catawba  champagne.  Warren  lias 
a  talent  of  mimicry,  and  gave  us  some  touches  of 
Sergeant  Wilkius.  whom  I  met,  several  months  ago, 
at  the  Mayor's  dinner. 

"  After  Mrs.  Bramley  Moore  had  retired,  Warren 
began  an  informal  little  talk  to  Mr.  Bramley  Moore, 
who  sat  between  him  and  me,  on  my  merits  as  a 
man  and  an  author.  Mr.  Bramley  Moore  urged  him 
to  speak  up,  and  give  the  company  the  privilege  of 
hearing  his  remarks ;  and  though  I  remonstrated,  it 
gradually  grew  into  almost  a  regular  dinner-table 
speech,  the  audience  crying,  —  in  rather  a  gentle  tone, 
however,  — '  Hear  !  hear  ! '  I  have  forgotten  what 
he  said,  and  also  what  I  responded ;  but  we  were 
very  laudatory  on  both  sides,  and  shook  hands  in. 
most  brotherly  fashion  across  the  table.  Anon,  after 
a  good  while  at  table,  Mrs.  Bramley  Moore  sent  to 
announce  coffee  and  tea ;  and  adjourning  to  the  draw 
ing-room  we  looked,  among  other  pretty  things,  at 


FROM  THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON.      43 

some  specimens  of  bright  autumnal  leaves  which  Mr. 
Bramley  Moore  had  "brought  with  him  from  his  re 
cent  visit  to  America.  Warren  admired  them  greatly. 
His  vanity  (which  those  who  know  him  speak  of  as 
a  very  prominent  characteristic)  kept  peeping  out  in 
everything  he  said." 

—  A  Yankee  boy  who  feels  uneasy  in  his  mind  or 
finds  his  surroundings  irksome  is  apt  to  pick  up  the 
first  stick  of  wood  he  comes  across,  and  try  upon  it 
how  sharp  his  jack-knife  is ;  and  men  like  Hawthorne, 
when  they  become  sensible  of  a  deficiency  of  sym 
pathy  in  their  companions,  are  apt  to  turn  upon  the 
latter  the  sharp  edge  of  their  observation  and  criticism. 
Hawthorne  was  always  very  tender  of  the  feelings  of 
others ;  and  though  he  could  riot  help  perceiving  the 
oddities  and  frailties  of  those  about  him,  the  percep 
tion  implied  no  uncharitableness  on  his  part,  and  was 
recorded  only  for  his  private  satisfaction.  He  appre 
hended  the  queer  traits  of  his  friends  quite  as  keenly 
as  those  of  indifferent  persons.  He  once  remarked 
of  Mr.  George  Bradford,  for  instance, — than  whom  no 
man  had  a  larger  share  of  his  respect  and  affection,  — 
that  "  his  conscientiousness  seems  to  be  a  kind  of  itch, 
keeping  him  always  uneasy  and  inclined  to  scratch ! " 

The  author  of  "  Ten  Thousand  a  Year  "  afterwards 
wrote  him  the  following  note  :  — 

INNER  TEMPLE,  LONDON,  7th  April,  1854. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  HAWTHORNE,  —  By  this  post  I  send 
you  a  copy  of  "  The  Intellectual  and  Moral  Develop- 


44  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

ment  of  the  Present  Age,"  with  divers  manuscript  cor 
rections  by  myself.  I  hope  you  will  like  the  book ;  for 
though  small  in  bulk,  it  contains  the  results  of  many 
a  long  year's  reflection.  It  gave  me  very  great  pleas- ' 
ure  to  meet,  the  other  day,  so  distinguished  an  Ameri 
can  brother  in  literature  as  yourself.  I  heartily  wish 
you  health  and  prosperity.  I  have  an  old  —  a  very 
old  —  friend  at  Liverpool  in  Mr.  Commissioner  Perry, 
who  lives  at  New  Brighton.  He  occupies  a  highly 
honorable  legal  post,  and  is  an  amiable  man,  and  also 
—  gives  charming  little  dinners!  I  have  assured  him 
that,  if  he  called,  you  would  like  to  see  him.  I  hope 
this  little  book  will  reach  you  safely.  Believe  me, 
dear  Mr.  Hawthorne, 

Yours  very  faithfully, 

SAMUEL  WARREN. 

This  day  my  gifted  friend  —  that  was  —  Professor 
Wilson,  is  buried,  with  public  honors. 

—  As  the  spring  advanced,  Hawthorne,  who  was 
always  a  great  walker,  fell  into  the  habit  of  taking 
occasional  tramps  about  the  country  in  the  neighbor 
hood  of  Kock  Ferry  and  Liverpool,  sometimes  taking 
his  son  with  him.  On  these  expeditions  he  often 
talked  quite  freely,  adapting  his  conversation,  of 
course,  to  the  calibre  of  his  interlocutor.  Among 
other  matters  which  were  discussed  with  animation, 
were  the  amazing  adventures  of  a  certain  General 
Quattlebum,  —  a  contemporary  and  rival  of  Baron 
Munchausen,  and  conversant  with  even  greater  mar- 


FROM  THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON.      45 

vels  than  came  within  the  experience  of  that  emi 
nent  nobleman.  He  was,  in  fact,  a  magician  and 
enchanter  of  the  first  rank ;  and  there  was  a  kind  of 
lofty  and  chivalrous  hostility  and  emulation  between 
him  and  Hawthorne,  who  was  also  a  mighty  wizard, 
and  who  in  the  constant  trials  of  skill  and  power 
that  took  place  between  them  generally  contrived 
to  gain  the  advantage.  Some  of  these  combats  were 
more  than  Homeric  ;  the  struggles  of  Jupiter  and 
the  Titans  were  child's  play  in  comparison.  Un 
fortunately,  none  of  the  exploits  of  these  two  heroes 
were  ever  reduced  to  writing ;  and  the  particulars  of 
their  achievements  have,  in  the  course  of  thirty  years, 
faded  from  the  memory  of  him  who  heard  them  re 
lated.  The  recollection .  of  one  slight  incident  has, 
however,  survived  the  general  obliteration,  and  I  will 
give  it  here.  Hawthorne  and  Quattlebum  had  in 
trenched  themselves  on  opposite  sides  of  a  deep  val 
ley,  about  a  mile  in  width,  and  all  was  ready  for  the 
bombardment  to  begin,  —  the  cannon  loaded  and 
primed,  and  the  aim  taken.  But  the  heroes,  like 
two  accomplished  duellists  about  to  engage  with  the 
small-sword,  could  not  begin  the  conflict  without 
having  exchanged  those  graceful  courtesies  which 
should  always  accompany  a  truly  heroic  antagonism. 
Accordingly  each  mounted  upon  his  largest  cannon, 
and,  standing  at  the  very  extremity  of  the  muzzle, 
touched  off  the  piece  with  the  slow-match  held  in 
the  left  hand.  As  the  missile  left  the  gun,  each 
leaped  lightly  upon  it,  and  was  borne  through  the 


46  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

air  with  the  speed  of  lightning.  In  a  few  moments 
they  met,  just  over  the  centre  of  the  valley.  Each 
lifted  his  hat,  and  made  the  other  a  grave  salute,  at 
the  same  instant  springing  off  his  own  ball  and  alight 
ing  upon  that  of  his  adversary,  which  swiftly  bore 
him  back  to  the  place  whence  he  started.  Haw 
thorne  returned  without  mishap ;  but  General  Quat- 
tlebum  had  not  paid  sufficient  attention  to  his  centre 
of  gravity :  he  fell  from  a  vast  height  to  the  bottom 
of  the  valley,  and  his  mighty  carcass  dammed  up  a 
river  which  flowed  through  it,  so  that  before  he  could 
extricate  himself  the  valley  became  a  lake,  which  is 
known  as  Lake  Quattlebum  to  this  day. 

There  was  an  indescribable  charm  about  the  tell 
ing  of  these  stories,  which  never  can  be  reproduced 
in  the  written  narration,  —  an  archness,  an  emphasis, 
an  atmosphere  of  awe  and  mystery,  and  exhaustless 
imaginative  resources.  Nor  was  General  Quattlebum 
a  mere  figure  of  the  past;  he  was  even  now  alive 
and  active,  although,  by  the  power  of  his  enchant 
ments,  he  rendered  himself  invisible  to  all  eyes  save 
Hawthorne's.  If  any  unaccountable  or  absurd  mis 
hap  occurred,  it  always  turned  out  that  the  General 
was  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Even  in  the  walks  above 
mentioned,  the  younger  pedestrian  would  occasionally 
feel  the  light  stroke  of  a  cane  across  his  back  ;  look 
ing  round,  no  one  would  be  there,  and  his  father  was 
walking  at  his  side  apparently  in  deep  abstraction. 
"Father,  somebody  hit  me  with  a  stick."  "Ah!  it 
must  have  been  Quattlebum  ! "  And  though  the 


FROM  THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON.      47 

person  thus  attacked  was  sometimes  inclined  to  sus 
pect  that  Quattlebum  had  contrived  to  incarnate 
himself  in  Mr.  Hawthorne's  form,  —  for  the  latter 
also  carried  a  cane,  —  he  was  never  able  to  surprise 
him  flagrante,  delictu. 

In  April,  John  O'Sullivan,  his  wife,  and  his  mother 
made  Hawthorne  a  visit  at  Eock  Park ;  they  were  on 
their  way  to  Lisbon,  to  which  place  O'Sullivan  had 
been  appointed  American  Minister.  Their  presence 
stimulated  Hawthorne  to  somewhat  more  than  his 
usual  social  activity;  people  were  invited  to  meet 
them,  and  they  were  invited  to  meet  people.  Haw 
thorne's  circle  of  English  acquaintances  was  ex 
panding  in  all  directions.  All  who  had  read  a 
book  of  his,  or  written  one  of  their  own,  were  ready 
to  open  relations  with  him.  It  was  at  about  this 
period,  I  think,  that  a  work  appeared,  and  attracted 
attention  in  England,  entitled  "Land,  Labor,  and 
Gold,"  by  Mr.  William  Howitt.  It  was  descriptive 
of  the  state  of  things  at  the  Australian  gold-diggings, 
which  had  lately  been  discovered,  and  whither  Mr. 
Howitt  had  betaken  himself.  Hawthorne  read  the 
book,  and  was  interested  in  it;  and  several  little  con 
spiring  circumstances  brought  about  an  exchange  of 
civilities  between  him  and  Mrs.  Howitt,  including 
this  pleasant  little  letter: — 

THE  HERMITAGE,  HIGHGATE  KISE,  May  14,  1854. 
DEAR  SIR,  —  I  thank  you  for  sending  the  little 
package  for  me  to  Mr.  Miller's.     I  have  written  to 


48  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

him  about  it,  and  I  shall  hope  soon  to  receive  it.  If 
I  were  to  meet  you  face  to  face,  I  should  not  say  a 
word  to  you  about  the  great  pleasure  we  have  derived 
from  your  works ;  but  on  paper  may  I  not  do  so 
without  offence  ?  Of  course  you  know  the  delight  you 
have  given  to  thousands.  But  you  do  not  know  how 
exquisite  to  our  taste  is  all  your  minute  detail, — 
your  working  out  a  character  by  Pre-Eaphaelian 
touches,  as  it  were,  —  if  you  understand  my  phrase  ; 
your  delicate  touch  upon  touch,  which  produces  such 
a  finished  whole,  —  so  different  from  the  slap-dash 
style  of  writing  so  common  nowadays.  Yes,  I  assure 
you  that  independently  of  the  intrinsic  interest  with 
which  we  read  your  books  at  first,  we  now  refer  again 
and  again  to  them  as  exquisite  works  of  art,  the  elab 
orate  finish  and  detail  of  which  are  never  exhausted. 
When  I  say  we,  I  mean  myself  and  my  husband  — 
now  an  antipode  —  and  my  daughter.  In  September 
—  please  God  —  I  hope  for  the  great  happiness  of 
seeing  my  dear  husband  once  more  in  England. 
Then  I  hope  you  will  be  coming  to  London,  if  not 
before.  And  if  you  will  give  us  an  opportunity 
of  shaking  hands  with  you,  I  promise  you  that  we 
will  not  bore  you  about  your  books,  nor  will  we 
lionize  or  torture  you  in  any  way;  only  be  right 
glad  to  see  you,  as  we  would  be  to  see  any  other 
good  man. 

I  am,  dear  sir,  yours  sincerely, 

MAKY  HOWITT. 


FROM  THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON.      49 

—  Hawthorne  met  Mr.  Howitt  in  London  a  few 
months  later,  and  seems  not  to  have  found  him  quite 
so  genial  as  his  books.  Mention  of  him  will  be 
found  in  the  "  English  Note-Books." 

In  July  it  was  determined  that  Mrs.  Hawthorne 
and  the  children  should  spend  a  fortnight  at  the  Isle 
of  Man,  —  a  small  rock-bound  spot  midway  between 
Liverpool  and  Dublin,  in  the  Irish  Channel.  Haw 
thorne  accompanied  them- thither  on  the  Saturday, 
and  spent  the  following  Sunday,  and  came  again  the 
Sunday  after  that.  The  Isle  of  Man  has  the  name  of 
being  a  very  rainy  place;  but  during  all  the  two 
weeks  of  our  sojourn  there,  the  sky  was  cloudless  and 
the  temperature  delightful,  though  it  did  rain  dis 
mally  both  on  the  day  of  our  arrival  and  on  that  of 
our  departure.  The  island  itself  is  a  most  pictu 
resque  and  charming  spot ;  the  sea  around  it  deep 
and  clear,  the  cliffs  abrupt  and  dark,  and  rendered 
additionally  romantic  by  the  ruined  castles  which 
surmount  its  tallest  acclivities.  A  few  hundred  yards 
from  shore,  directly  opposite  the  hotel,  was  a  tiny 
islet,  on  which  stood  the  ruin  of  a  small  tower,  as  if 
for  the  especial  benefit  of  persons  disposed  to  sketch 
ing.  On  the  first  Sunday  a  conveyance  was  hired, 
and  the  whole  party  drove  about  the  island,  which  is 
of  such  limited  extent  that  nearly  all  of  it  can  be 
thus  inspected  in  a  single  day.  It  turned  out  that 
the  tradition  that  Manx  cats  have  no  tails  is  no  more 
than  the  truth  ;  and  it  was  also  discovered  that  Manx 
horses  drink  ale,  —  a  bucketful  of  this  beverage  being 

VOL.  II.  4 


50  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

furnished  them  at  each  halting-place.  The  pastures 
are  grazed  by  great  numbers  of  partly  wild  cattle,  a 
drove  of  which,  infuriated  by  the  sight  of  a  red  shawl 
worn  by  one  of  the  party,  charged  down  upon  us 
twenty  strong,  and  had  nearly  swept  us  from  the 
island  before  the  offending  garment  could  be  stripped 
off  and  put  out  of  sight.  The  most  imposing  ruin 
was  Peel  Castle,  which  also  had  a  historic  reputa 
tion  for  being  haunted;  one  tradition  being  to  the 
effect  that  a  huge  black  demon  in  the  shape  of  a 
dog  infested  the  premises,  and  that  a  soldier  of 
the  garrison,  who  had  undertaken  to  confront  it, 
was  found  by  his  companions  next  morning  in  a 
speechless  state,  and  died  without  having  spoken 
a  word. 

Many  of  the  remains  on  the  island  are  of  un 
known  antiquity,  —  as  old  as  the  Druids,  or  older ; 
and  the  place  has  quite  as  distinct  a  character  of  its 
own  (as  regards  its  inhabitants,  their  speech  and 
manners)  as  Jersey  and  Guernsey  in  the  English 
Channel.  Hawthorne  was  very  much  captivated  by 
it ;  but  he  never  had  an  opportunity  of  jotting  down 
his  impressions,  except  the  short  description  of  Kirk 
Madden  in  the  Note-Books.  On  the  second  Sunday 
we  embarked  on  board  a  small  steamer,  and  com 
pletely  circumnavigated  the  island;  it  was  a  calm, 
sunny  day,  and  the  changing  aspects  of  the  coast 
were  like  a  prophetic  vision  of  Dore.  So  quaint, 
unique,  and  lovable  a  little  region  as  the  Isle  of  Man 
seldom  rewards  the  industry  of  travellers.  But  this 


FROM  THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON.       51 

was  thirty  years  ago,  and  it  may  have  become  less 
primitive  iii  the  interim. 

Hawthorne  returned  to  Liverpool  the  next  day, 
and  on  his  arrival  wrote  the  following  letter  to 
Mrs.  Hawthorne.  The  Mr.  Cecil  alluded  to  therein 
is  the  same  Mr.  Henry  Cecil  whose  brotherly  over 
tures  to  the  author  of  "The  White  Old  Maid"  have 
already  been  mentioned.  It  would  seem  that  he  had 
held  out  hopes  of  a  personal  renewal  of  fraternities. 

LIVERPOOL,  July  26,  1854. 

DEAREST  WIFE,  —  We  had  the  pleasantest  passage, 
yesterday,  that  can  be  conceived  of.  How  strange 
that  the  best  weather  I  have  ever  known  should  have 
come  to  us  on  these  English  coasts ! 

I  enclose  some  letters  from  the  O'Sullivans,  whereby 
you  will  see  that  they  have  come  to  a  true  apprecia 
tion  of  Mr.  Cecil's  merits.  They  say  nothing  of  his  de 
parture,  but  I  shall  live  in  daily  terror  of  his  arrival. 

I  hardly  think  it  worth  while  for  me  to  return  to 
the  Isle  of  Man  this  summer,  —  that  is,  unless  you 
conclude  to  stay  longer  than  a  week  from  this  time. 
Do  so,  by  all  means,  if  you  think  the  residence  will 
benefit  either  yourself  or  the  children.  Or  it  would 
be  easy  to  return  thither,  should  it  seem  desirable,  or 
to  go  somewhere  else.  Tell  me  what  day  you  fix 
upon  for  leaving,  and  I  will  either  await  you  in  person 
at  the  landing-place  or  send  Henry.  Do  not  start 
unless  the  weather  promises  to  be  favorable,  even 
though  you  should  be  all  ready  to  go  on  board. 


52  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

I  think  you  should  give  something  to  the  servants, 
—  those  of  them,  at  least,  who  have  taken  any  par 
ticular  pains  with  you.  Michael  asked  me  for  some 
thing,  but  I  told  him  that  I  should  probably  be  back 
again ;  so  you  must  pay  him  my  debts,  and  your  own 
too. 

It  is  very  lonesome  at  Rock  Ferry,  and  I  long 
to  have  you  all  back  again.  Give  my  love  to  the 
children. 

THINE  OWNEST. 

—  Much  to  the  regret  of  the  younger  members  of 
the  party  > —  a  regret  scarcely  modified  by  the  steady 
down-pour  of  rain,  —  we  bade  farewell  to  the  Isle  of 
Man  on  the  last  day  of  the  week,  and  reached  Eock 
Park  the  same  evening.  There  Mrs.  Hawthorne 
found  a  letter  from  her  father,  —  the  last,  I  believe, 
that  he  wrote;  for  he  died  soon  afterwards. 

AMHERST,  Friday,  July  14,  1854. 

DEAR  SOPHIA,  —  I  did  not  receive  your  letter  of 
June  22  till  last  Wednesday,  the  12th.  I  had  given 
up  hearing  from  you  by  the  last  steamer,  and  feared 
you  might  be  too  sick  to  write.  Nat  delayed  send 
ing  it.  I  was  very  glad  to  receive  it,  and  was  enter 
tained  with  your  account  of  the  splendid  palaces  you 
described.  I  hope  when  you  write  again  'to  hear 
that  your  cough  is  going  off.  What  a  sad  time  you 
have  had  with  your  servants  !  I  received  a  letter 
from  Elizabeth,  who  expected  to  be  in  Brattleboro' 
this  week.  She  has  been  everywhere.  I  had  a  very 


FROM  THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON.      53 

pleasant  interview  with  Mr.  Hawthorne  last  night, 
after  I  had  gone  to  sleep.  He  was  on  here  from  Liv 
erpool,  and  appeared  very  well.  Thank  Una  for  her 
letter,  and  Julian  for  his  nice  letter.  There  is  noth 
ing  to  communicate  from  here.  Horace  Mann  junior 
is  very  fond  of  chemistry,  and  makes  gunpowder,  and 
got  his  eyebrows  and  eyelashes  burnt  off  and  his 
face  burnt  by  its  igniting  accidentally, — a  go.od  les 
son  for  all  the  boys.  We  had  a  very  quiet  time  on 
the  Fourth  of  July,  —  only  a  few  straggling  guns 
fired,  and  a  few  crackers.  I  keep  along  as  usual,  but 
the  hot  weather  operates  upon  me  very  sensibly.  I 
have  nothing  here  to  stimulate  my  mind.  I  have  a 
good  appetite,  however.  To  revert  to  your  descrip 
tions  of  the  splendid  places  you  mentioned  in  your 
last,  how  do  you  remember  to  describe  them  so  mi 
nutely  ?  It  seems  you  must  take  notes  as  you  go 
along. 

Your  uncle  is  building  a  new  house.  He  is  going 
to  sell  his  present  house  and  a  large  part  of  his  land. 
I  wish  I  had  something  interesting  to  write,  but  I 
have  no  genius  and  imagination  to  supply  anything 
of  the  kind.  So,  with  my  love  to  you  all,  I  sub 
scribe  myself  as  ever 

Your  affectionate  father,  K  P. 

Don't  let  Eose  forget  me. 

—  The  "  cough  "  above  spoken  of  was  an  attack  of 
whooping-cough,  which  had  seized  upon  the  entire 
family  several  weeks  before,  and  partly  to  promote 


54  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

convalescence  from  which  it  was  that  the  visit  to  the 
Isle  of  Man  had  been  projected.  Mrs.  Hawthorne 
had  been  afflicted  with  bronchial  troubles  soon  after 
her  arrival  in  England,  and  was  never  free  from  them 
so  long  as  she  remained  there ;  and  they  led  to  her 
making  a  prolonged  visit  to  Lisbon  and  Madeira 
during  part  of  the  two  following  years;  taking  her 
two  daughters  with  her,  and  leaving  the  boy  with  his 
father. 

The  next  month  (August)  Hawthorne  and  his  wife 
saw  the  cricket-match  of  Liverpool  vs.  Derbyshire, 
and  Mrs.  Hawthorne  wrote  to  her  father  the  follow 
ing  amusing  description  of  it.  No  doubt  cricket 
must  seem  a  very  abstruse  game  to  those  who  behold 
it  for  the  first  time. 

"  The  last  thing  that  happened  was  Mr.  Hawthorne's 
and  my  going  to  see  a  cricket  match  between  Liver 
pool  and  Derbyshire.  We  sat  in  the  carriage,  and 
looked  out  upon  a  perfectly  level  plain  of  eight  or 
nine  acres, —  a  smooth,  sunny,  velvet  lawn.  In  the 
midst  of  it  the  two  wickets  were  erected  at  the  dis 
tance  apart  of  twenty  or  thirty  feet,  each  composed 
of  three  sticks,  with  another  stick  laid  transversely. 
The  cricketers  were  all  dressed  in  pale  buff  wash- 
leather  or  felt  doublet  and  hose,  with  boots  of  duck 
and  buff  leather  in  strips  over  the  instep ;  and  those 
who  stood  before  each  wicket  with  a  bat  in  hand 
were  guarded  from  the  severe  blows  of  the  ball  by  a 
peculiar  coat-of-mail  reaching  from  the  ankles  above 
the  knee.  This  shin-guard  was  made  of  buff  leather, 


FROM   THE  LAKES   TO  LONDON.  55 

very  much  like  a  child's  sun-bonnet ;  but  instead  of 
pasteboard  sewed  in,  it  is  thickly  padded  with  wool, 
and  I  do  not  know  but  a  thin  wooden  board  or  whale 
bone  besides,  — making  the  limb  look  very  clumsy. 
At  each  wicket  stood,  therefore,  a  well-padded   man 
with   a  bat.      Behind  him  and  each  wicket   stood 
another  man  who  threw  the  ball  and  tried  to  knock 
down  the  wicket,  which  the  man  with  the  bat  was 
studious  to  prevent.     In  a  vast  circle  from  these  four 
stood,  I  believe,  eight  men,  at  exact  distances  from 
one  another,  who  were  to  catch  the  ball  when  a  bat 
sent  it  off  from  either  wicket.     If  the  man  with  the 
bat  was  so  fortunate  as  to  drive  it  to  a  great  distance, 
he  and  the  other  batman  ran  from  one  wicket  to 
another;  and  just  as  many  times  as  they  could  ex 
change  places,  so  much  the  better  for  them,  for  each 
tirne&counts  one  in  the  game.     We  alighted  from  the 
carriage,  and  went  into  the  plain,  and  finally  sat  down 
under  a  tent,  where  were  some  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
or,  more  properly,  respectable  men  and  women ;  for 
in  England  there  is  great  discrimination  used  in  this 
nomenclature.      If  a  batman  hits  the  ball  before  it 
reaches  the  ground,  and  strikes  it  into  the  air,  and  it 
is  caught  by  one  of  the  outstanders,  there  is  a  loss. 
Once  a  young  man  who  had  been  a  bat-man  and  had 
failed  to  defend  his  wicket  exclaimed  near  me,  as  an 
outstander  caught  the  ball  from   the  clouds,  "Ah, 
what  a  shame.  —  and  one  of  our   own  men  too!" 
So   it   seemed   that  this  man   was  obliged  to   play 
against  himself  in  such  circumstances.     I  was  aston- 


ITl 


56  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

ished,  all  the  time,  to  see  the  want  of  animation  in 
the  players.  They  lounged  along  after  the  ball  upon 
the  ground,  as  if  they  were  taking  an  evening  stroll, 
with  a  sort  of  Oriental  languor." 

—  Here  is  another  passage  which  should  gratify  Eng 
lish  people,  though  it  may  be  surmised  that  few  of 
them  could  lay  their  hands  upon  their  hearts  and 
swear  that  Mrs.  Hawthorne  had  not  been  exception 
ally  fortunate  in  her  experience  of  the  native  English 
orthoepy. 

"...  I  am  constantly  struck  here  with  the  correct 
English  which  persons  talk  who  are  below  the  first 
rank,  and  even  below  the  second  rank.  I  very  sel 
dom  hear  a  slang  expression,  and  every  word 'is  well 
pronounced,  well  articulated  and  accented.  It  is  only 
the  very  first  circle  with  us  who  ever  speak  so  well, 
and  even  with  them  one  sometimes  hears  the  wrong 
word  or  bad  contractions.  I  do  not  believe  that  on 
English  ground  you  would  hear  a  person  say  "  ain't," 
in  any  rank  of  life.  "  Had  n't  ought "  is  also  an 
enormity  never  dreamed  of  in  this  island.  I  was 
always  exceedingly  annoyed  by  any  incorrectness  of 
language;  but  I  never  realized,  till  I  lived  in  the 
mother  country,  what  careless  ways  the  daughter  had 
contracted,  what  perpetual  cold-blooded  murders  are 
perpetrated  hourly  on  the  Queen's  English  in  the 
United  States,  by  writers  as  well  as  talkers.  I  under 
stand  now  why  the  English  make  so  much  account  of 
Mr.  Hawthorne's  language,  as  being  the  only  faultless 
English  written  by  an  American.  Miss  Wetherell, 


FROM  THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON.      57 

Mrs.  Stowe,  Grace  Greenwood,  all  write  slang  a  great 
deal.  They  ought  all  to  be  put  upon  a  strict  diet  of 
old  English  prose-writers  before  they  are  allowed  to 
use  the  pen  any  more."  .  .  . 

—  The  rest  of  the  summer  was  spent  in  little  ex 
cursions  of  a  day  or  so  each,  —  once  to  Conway,  in 
Wales,  with  Henry  Bright ;  and  once  to  Eaton  Hall, 
near  Chester,  when  Hawthorne  was  accompanied  by 
his  wife  and  George  Bradford.  These  expeditions 
are  fully  described  in  the  Note-Books.  About  the 
middle  of  September  lodgings  were  taken  at  Khyl, 
a  small  town  on  the  Welsh  coast;  and  the  family 
remained  there  for  six  or  eight  weeks,  making  occa 
sional  visits  to  places  in  the  neighborhood.  Haw 
thorne  had  previously  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Lord  Houghton  (at  that  time  Mr.  Kichard  Monckton 
Milnes),  and  had  met  with  very  appreciative  treat 
ment  at  his  hands.  A  few  years  ago,  the  present 
writer  saw  Lord  Houghton  in  London,  when  that 
nobleman  remarked,  somewhat  regretfully,  that  Haw 
thorne  had  never  liked  him.  So  far  as  I  am  aware, 
there  was  no  ground  for  this  impression.  With  one 
or  two  exceptions,  Hawthorne  liked  all  the  English 
men  with  whom  he  had  more  than  passing  inter 
course.  He  was  not  a  gushing  man,  but  he  was  a 
uniformly  genial  and  kindly  one.  He  was  reserved; 
and  Englishmen  do  not  seem  to  understand  reserve 
in  any  one  except  themselves.  But  English  reserve 
is  not  like  the  reserve  of  such  a  man  as  Hawthorne. 
The  former  is  an  external  matter,  connected  with 


58  HA  WTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

caste  and  conventionality  ;  the  latter  is  innate.     One 
is  factitious ;  the  other  genuine. 

Mr.  Milnes  used  to  write  courteous  little  notes, 
like  the  following: — 

CREWE  HALL,  CREWE,  Nov.  7,  1854. 
DEAR  MR.  HAWTHORNE,  —  I  must  have  the  pleas 
ure  of  showing  you  this  place  before  I  go  to  York 
shire.  Lord  Crewe  begs  me  to  say  that  he  will  be 
very  happy  if  you  can  come  here  on  Monday  for  a 
day  or  two  ;  or  if  you  are  too  busy  to  absent  your 
self  from  Liverpool  on  a  week  day,  from  Saturday 
to  Monday.  Do  just  which  is  most  convenient  for 
you.  The  rail  brings  you  to  the  Crewe  station  in 
an  hour  and  a  half,  and  we  will  send  to  meet  you 
there.  You  will  probably  find  us  all  sole  alone  in 
either  case ;  but  as  I  am  lately  returned  from  Scot 
land  and  am  soon  to  go  away  again,  I  do  not  like 
to  lose  this  opportunity  of  seeing  you.  With  Mrs. 
Milnes'  best  compliments,  I  remain 

Yours  very  truly, 

ElCHARD   MONCKTON   MlLNES. 

—  No  doubt  Hawthorne  seldom  accepted  such  in 
vitations;  but  he  was  fully  sensible  of  their  kind 
intention,  and  never  failed  to  make  a  suitable  ac 
knowledgment. 

Rhyl  is  a  region  of  illimitable  sands,  which  at  low 
tide  are  left  bare  beyond  anticipation.  Hawthorne 
enjoyed  walking  upon  them,  and  gazing  out  upon 
the  expanse,  though  they  were  very  different  from 


FROM  THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON.      59 

the  hard  white  beaches  to  which  he  had  been  accus 
tomed  in  New  England;  but  there  was  always  the 
horizon,  and  he  preferred  the  long  sweep  of  meeting 
sea  and  sky  to  most  kinds  of  prospects.  One  night, 
during  a  gale,  a  vessel  came  ashore  opposite  the 
town,  and  lay  careened  over  on  her  beam  ends,  a 
full  mile  distant  from  the  Parade.  The  crew,  with 
one  exception,  were  rescued  and  brought  ashore, — 
a  forlorn  and  bedraggled  group.  The  next  day  there 
was  a  thin  stream  of  visitors  going  and  coming  be 
tween  the  wreck  and  the  shore.  Hawthorne  did  not 
go;  but  as  he  walked  along  the  coast  with  his  sor± 
that  afternoon,  he  spoke  of  other  wrecks  that  he  had 
seen,  and  suggested  the  awful  possibility  of  our 
coming  upon  the  corpse  of  the  drowned  sailor  in 
some  inlet  of  the  sands. 

After  a  visit  to  Con  way  Castle,  where  Mrs.  Haw 
thorne  came  near  being  lost  forever  in  the  secret 
passages  of  the  walls,  which  are  of  indefinite  ex 
tent  and  perfectly  dark,  the  family  returned  to 
Eock  Park  for  the  winter.  Winter  in  this  part  of 
England  is  a  dreary  and  depressing  affair,  and  it  did 
no  good  to  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  cough.  The  only 
episode  that  broke  the  monotony  was  a  brief  visit 
from  Miss  Sarah  Clarke,  sister  of  James  Freeman 
Clarke  and  an  old  friend  of  Mrs.  Hawthorne.  She 
was  on  her  way  to  Rome,  and  was  the  occasion 
of  the  following  communication  from  Mr.  Russell 
Sturgis,  who  had  known  Mrs.  Hawthorne  before  her 
marriage :  — 


60  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

v 

LONDON,  Dec.  19,  1854. 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  HAWTHORNE,  —  The  Pope  will  not 
let  us  prepay  letters  to  Eome,  as  he  prefers  to  collect 
there;  but  we  shall  tell  your  friend  Miss  Sarah  Clarke, 
'that  we  credit  her  postage  account  with  two  shillings 
received  from  you,  and  she  will  get  the  benefit  of 
your  thoughtful  regularity.  "  Rock  Park  "  I  take  to 
be  the  pretty  place  where  I  saw  you ;  but  to  be  sure, 
I  direct  my  letter  to  Liverpool.  When  we  were  run 
ning  about  in  the  rain,  trying  to  find  your  where 
abouts,  the  commander  of  the  little  steamboat  could 
tell  us  nothing  of  "Hawthorne;"  but  the  dignity 
of  the  "  American  Consul "  had  made  its  full  impres 
sion,  and  he  knew  well  where  he  lived.  So  much 
for  fame,  you  see  !  I  did  not  know  when  I  saw  you 
that  your  boy  had  the  same  name  as  mine.  Where 
did  you  get  it  ?  With  regards  to  Mr.  Hawthorne,  . 
Yours  very  truly  and  affectionately, 

EUSSELL  STURGIS. 

— Early  in  the  summer  of  the  following  year  (1855) 
was  held  in  Liverpool  a  meeting  of  the  "  Provincial 
Assembly  of  Lancashire  and  Cheshire."  This  assem 
bly  was  a  relic  of  the  Presbyterian  organization  estab 
lished  by  the  Parliament  of  1647;  but,  like  other 
Presbyterian  institutions,  it  had  become  entirely  Uni 
tarian.  To  the  meeting  in  question  Hawthorne  was 
invited  ;  and  the  letter  he  wrote,  declining  the  in 
vitation,  has  more  than  ordinary  interest,  owing  to 
the  reference  it  contains  to  religious  matters :  — 


FROM  THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON.  61 

LIVERPOOL,  June  15,  1855. 

GENTLEMEN,  —  I  regret  that  a  long-contemplated 
and  unavoidable  absence  from  town  will  deprive  me 
of  the  great  pleasure  of  being  present  on  the  interest 
ing  occasion  in  the  enjoyment  of  which  you  kindly 
invite  me  to  participate.  Few  things  have  been 
more  delightful  to  me,  during  my  residence  in  Eng 
land,  than  to  find  here  the  descendants  (spiritually 
at  least,  and  in  many  instances,  I  believe,  the  descend 
ants  by  lineage  and  name)  of  that  revered  brother 
hood  a  part  of  whose  mission  it  was  to  plant  the 
seeds  of  liberal  Christianity  in  America.  Some  of 
that  brotherhood  sought  freedom  of  worship  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  while  others  reserved  them 
selves  to  the  perhaps  more  difficult  task  of  keeping 
their  religious  faith  pure  and  full  of  genial  life  be 
neath  the  shadow  of  English  churches  and  cathe 
drals.  And  it  seems  to  me  a  noble  and  beautiful 
testimony  to  the  truth  of  our  religious  convictions, 
that  after  so  long  a  period,  coming  down  from  the 
past  with  an  ocean  between  us,  the  liberal  churches 
of  England  and  America  should  nevertheless  have 
arrived  at  the  same  results ;  that  an  American,  an 
offspring  of  Puritan  sires,  still  finds  himself  in  broth 
erly  relations  with  the  posterity  of  those  free-minded 
men  who  exchanged  a  parting  pressure  of  the  hand 
with  his  forefathers  more  than  two  centuries  ago; 
and  that  we  can  all  unite  in  one  tone  of  religious 
sentiment,  whether  uttered  by  the  lips  of  the  friend 
whom  you  have  summoned  from  my  native  land 


62  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

(Bev.  W.  H.  Charming),  or  by  the  lips  of  your  hon 
ored  guests  whose  faith  has  ripened  in  the  mother 
country.  With  great  respect, 

Sincerely  yours, 

NATH.  HAWTHORNE. 

—  This  letter  expressed  the  writer's  genuine  senti 
ments,  as  far  as  it  went ;  but  it  was  in  some  sense  a 
public  document  (it  was,  I  believe,  published  in  the 
Liverpool  newspapers  of  that  date),  and  it  has  some 
what  of  the  formality  and  style  of  a  speech.  No 
doubt  his  speech,  had  he  been  present  to  make  one, 
would  have  been  on  the  lines  of  the  letter.  Meanwhile 
it  need  not  be  forgotten  that  he  was  not  a  frequenter 
of  his  friend  Mr.  Channing's  church ;  and  it  may  be 
surmised  that  the  above  expression  of  his  views  was 
none  the  less  cordial  because  it  was  written  with  the 
consciousness  that  circumstances  would  prevent  him 
from  delivering  it  in  person. 

On  the  18th  of  June  the  "  long-contemplated  "  de 
parture  from  Eock  Park  took  place.  The  journey  was 
in  the  first  place  to  Leamington.  "Leamington,"  he 
writes,  "  seems  to  be  made  chiefly  of  lodging-houses, 
and  to  be  built  with  a  view  to  a  continually  shifting 
population.  It  is  a  very  beautiful  town,  with  regular 
streets  of  stone  or  stuccoed  houses,  very  broad  pave 
ments,  and  much  shade  of  noble  trees,  in  many  parts 
of  the  town  ;  parks  and  gardens,  too,  of  delicious  ver 
dure  ;  and  throughout  all,  an  aspect  of  freshness  and 
cleanness  that  I  despaired  of  ever  seeing  in  England 


FROM  THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON.       63 

The  town  seems  to  be  almost  entirely  new.  The  prin 
cipal  street  has'elegant  shops ;  and  the  scene  is  very 
lively,  with  throngs  of  people  more  gayly  dressed 
than  one  is  accustomed  to  see  in  this  country ;  sol 
diers,  too,  lounging  at  the  corners,  and  officers,  who 
appear  less  shy  of  showing  themselves  in  their  regi 
mentals  than  it  is  the  fashion  to  be  elsewhere. 

"In  the  forenoon  we  took  a  walk  through  what 
looked  like  a  park,  but  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  semi- 
public  tract  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  —  hill  and 
glade,  with  a  fair  gravel-path  through  it,  and  most 
stately  and  beautiful  trees  overshadowing  it.     Here 
and  there  benches  were  set  beneath  the  trees.     These 
old,  vigorous,  much-nurtured   trees  are   fine  beyond 
description,  and  in  this  leafy  month  of   June   they 
certainly  surpass  my  recollections  of  American  trees, 
—  so  tall,  and  with  such  an  aspect  of  age-long  life. 
But  the  fact  that  these  English  trees  are  traditional, 
and  connected  with  the  fortunes  of  old  families,  — 
such  moral  considerations  inevitably  enter  into  physi 
cal   admiration   of  them.     They  are   individuals,  — 
which  few  American  trees  have  the  happiness  to  be. 
Julian  compared  an  oak,  which  we  saw  on  our  jour 
ney,   to  a  cauliflower ;  and  its  shape  —  its   regular, 
compact  rotundity  —  makes  it  very  like  one  :  there  is 
a  certain  Jolm-Bullism  about  it.     I  have  never  any 
where  enjoyed  weather  so  delightful  as  such  a  day  as 
yesterday  ;  so  warm  and  genial,  and  yet  not  oppres 
sive,  —  the  sun  a  very  little  too  warm  while  walking 
beneath  it,  but  only  enough  too  warm  to  assure  us 


64  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

that  it  was  warm  enough.  And,  after  all,  there  was 
an  un conquered  freshness  in  the  atmosphere,  which 
each  little  motion  of  the  air  made  evident  to  us.  I 
suppose  there  is  still  latent  in  us  Americans  (even  of 
two  centuries'  date  and  more,  like  myself)  an  adap 
tation  to  the  English  climate,  which  makes  it  like 
native  soil  and  air  to  us." 

—  About  a  month  was  spent  in  Leamington  on  this 
first  visit ;  but  Hawthorne  returned  there  more  than 
once,  and  seemed  to  conceive  for  it  a  more  home 
like  feeling  than  for  almost  any  other  place  in  Eng 
land.  The  environs,  easily  accessible,  were  indeed 
more  interesting  than  Leamington  itself;  and  Haw 
thorne  never  walked  so  much  or  with  so  much 
pleasure,  while  in  England,  as  during  his  various 
sojournings  at  this  pretty  town. 

One  of  the  last  days  of  June  was  spent  in  an  ex 
cursion  to  Stratford-on-Avon,  described  in  "  Our  Old 
Home  ;  "  and  after  a  run  up  to  Liverpool,  and  a  visit 
to  Lichfield  and  Uttoxeter,  the  family  set  forth,  in 
the  early  part  of  July,  for  a  fortnight  among  the  Eng 
lish  Lakes.  Just  before  that  event,  however,  the  law 
had  been  passed  by  Congress,  reducing  the  emoluments 
of  the  Consulate  by  a  serious  amount.  Mr.  Wilding 
had  written  to  Hawthorne,  under  date  of  June  29, 
that  it  would  be  "put  in  force  on  Monday.  What 
war-vessels,"  he  adds,  "  are  now  in,  must  of  course 
come  under  the  old  law.  Under  the  Attorney-Gen 
eral's  construction,  I  think  the  Consuls  —  here,  at  all 
events  —  may  manage  to  make  their  expenses."  Of 


FROM   THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON.  65 

course  this  put  an  end  to  all  possibility  of  laying  up 
any  considerable  sum  of  money  against  the  future. 
With  economy,  there  would  be  enough  to  get  through 
with,  and  no  more.  It  took  away  from  the  Consulate 
the  only  feature  that  could  render  it  tolerable,  and 
Hawthorne  began  to  grow  restive  in  the  traces.  He 
wrote  under  date  of  July  5  :  — 

DEAR  MR.  BRIGHT,  —  I  have  come  back  (only  for 
a  day  or  two)  to  this  black  and  miserable  hole. 
Truly  yours, 

ISTATH,  HAWTHORNE. 

P.  S.  I  don't  mean  to  apply  the  above  two  dis 
paraging  adjectives  merely  to  my  Consulate,  but  to 
all  Liverpool  and  its  environs,  —  except  Sandheys 
and  Norris  Green  [these  places  being  the  residences, 
respectively,  of  Mr.  Bright  and  Mr.  Heywood]. 

—  Bat  the  vacation  among  the  Lakes  compensated 
for  a  great  deal  of  Liverpool.  The  weather  was,  for 
the  most  part,  favorable,  and  the  scenery  wore  its 
loveliest  aspect.  Our  headquarters  were  made  at 
the  Newby  Bridge  Hotel,  on  Lake  Windermere, 
whence  every  part  of  the  Lake  district  lies  within 
the  limits  of  a  comfortable  excursion.  The  combi 
nation  of  mountain,  water,  and  forest  with  reminis 
cences  of  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  Southey,  and  the 
others  of  that  conclave,  was  peculiarly  grateful  to  the 
American  man  of  letters ;  possibly,  indeed,  he  more 
enjoyed  the  calm  imaginative  delight  of  this  spiritual 


66  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

communion  with  the  spots  which  their  memory  made 
famous,  than  he  would  have  cared  for  their  concrete 
living  companionship.  It  is  among  the  most  valu 
able  qualities  of  places  associated  with  famous  names, 
that  you  find  therein  more  of  what  you  wish  to  find 
of  the  personages  in  question,  and  have  it  more  at 
your  leisure  and  according  to  your  humor,  than  they 
themselves  could  ever  furnish  you  withal.  Words 
worth's  grave  had  —  what  the  poet  himself  did  not 
always  have  —  a  charm  worthy  of  his  poetry ;  and 
the  cataract  of  Lodore  gave  to  our  conception  of 
Southey  a  freshness  and  beauty  which  might  have 
failed  to  discover  themselves  in  the  man.  But  the 
tour  has  been  amply  treated  of  in  the  Note-Books 
and  need  not  be  further  commented  upon  here. 

For  a  time  Hawthorne  entertained  some  idea  of 
handing  in  his  resignation  as  Consul,  and,  after  a 
short  visit  to  Italy,  returning  to  America.  There 
were  several  arguments  in  favor  of  such  a  step.  He 
had  been  in  England  long  enough  to  obtain  a  distinct 
impression  of  it;  and  he  could,  in  the  course  of  a 
month  or  two,  visit  such  places  of  especial  interest 
in  the  island  as  he  had  not  already  seen.  A  longer 
tenure  of  office  would  not  materially  increase  his 
pecuniary  resources;  and,  finally,  his  wife's  health 
made  it  necessary  that  she,  at  any  rate,  should  not 
pass  another  winter  in  the  English  climate.  He 
seems  to  have  spoken  of  this  intention  to  persons 
outside  his  immediate  circle ;  for  I  find  the  poet 
William  Allingham  writing  to  him  from  Ireland : 


FROM  THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON.      67 

"  That  Liverpool  should  be  distasteful  to  you  seems 
no  marvel,  and  you  are  doubtless  right  to  leave  it. 
Men  make  much  of  their  misery  by  what  they  call 
'  sticking  to  business/  —  becoming  human  limpets. 
In  England,  at  least,  we  are  over-adhesive  in  our 
habits.  Myself,  I  still  laud  (though  relapsed)  the 
virtue  of  Official  Eesignation  ;  and  I  wish  I  could 
afford  to  practise  it  in  my  humble  way." 

But  before  the  project  could  take  definite  shape, 
something  occurred  to  materially  modify  it.  John 
O'Sullivan  was  now  United  States  Minister  to  the 
Court  of  Lisbon  ;  and  he  wrote  to  propose  that  Mrs. 
Hawthorne  should,  with  her  children,  spend  the  en 
suing  winter  there.  This  would  not  only  give  her 
the  advantage  of  the  kind  of  climate  most  favorable 
to  her  complaint,  but  would  effect  some  saving  in 
expense.  Hawthorne  might  then  finish  his  term  at 
the  Consulate,  and  the  visit  to  Italy  would  be  only 
postponed,  not  abandoned.  This  plan,  upon  due 
consideration,  appeared  to  combine  so  many  advan 
tages  that  it  could  not  easily  be  put  aside.  The 
main  objection  to  it  was,  of  course,  that  it  involved 
a  separation  which  would  certainly  be  prolonged,  and 
might — having  in  view  the  uncertainties  ol  life  — 
be  final.  The  husband  and  wife  had  never,  since 
their  marriage,  been  apart  from  each  other  more  than 
a  few  weeks  at  a  time,  and  the  prospect  of  so  grave 
an  interruption  of  their  companionship  was  hard  to 
contemplate.  It  was  at  length  decided  that  Mrs. 
-  Hawthorne  should  proceed  to  Lisbon  in  the  autumn, 


68  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

taking  with  her  her  two  daughters;  while  the  son 
should  remain  in  England  with  his  father. 

Hawthorne  returned  to  Liverpool  about  the  end 
of  July,  and  took  rooms  at  the  Eock  Ferry  Hotel, 
whither  his  family  followed  him  a  few  days  later, 
and  where  they  remained  during  the  month  of  Au 
gust.  In  the  first  week  of  that  month  Henry  Bright 
took  his  friend  to  witness  the  launch  of  the  "  Eoyal 
Charter,"  which  is  described  in  detail  in  the  Journal. 
This  large  and  superb  vessel  was  afterwards  wrecked 
disastrously,  with  great  loss  of  life,  off  the  coast  of 
Anglesea.  The  only  other  event  of  importance,  of 
this  date,  was  the  visit  to  Smithell's  Hall,  which  was 
made  in  fulfilment  of  an  old  engagement.  It  is  to 
this  Hall  that  the  legend  of  the  Bloody  Footstep 
belongs,  which  haunted  Hawthorne  ever  afterwards. 
I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  legend  was  more  of 
a  nuisance  than  a  pleasure  to  him,  after  all.  From 
a  literary  point  of  view,  the  idea  is  one  of  those 
which  seem  very  alluring  at  first  sight,  but,  when 
one  comes  to  deal  with  them,  prove  strangely  diffi 
cult  and  impracticable.  Having  once  made  up  his 
mind  to  use  the  incident,  in  some  form,  in  a  ro 
mance,  Hawthorne  would  not  easily  forego  his  pur 
pose  x  and  nothing  can  be  more  interesting  and 
instructive  to  would-be  romancers  than  the  repeated 
efforts  he  made  to  lick  the  incident  into  shape  and 
harmony,  But  it  is  too  fantastic  to  be  made  impres 
sive, —  at  least,  when  incorporated  in  a  narrative  of 
any  length.  The  symbol  of  the  Scarlet  Letter  will 


FROM  THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON.  69 

be  memorable  and  fearful  while  our  literature  lasts ; 
but  the  Bloody  Footstep  is  a  comparatively  crude 
and  shallow  idea, — not  fine  and  subtile  enough  to  be 
properly  assimilated  by  a  genius  so  pure  and  pro 
found  as  Hawthorne's. 

He  dined  at  Smithell's  Hall,  and  made  one  or 
two  reflections  not  given  in  the  Note-Books.  "  Mrs. 
Ains worth,"  he  says,  "  talked  rather  copiously,  but 
not  particularly  well.  She  seems  to  have  pretensions 
to  a  knowledge  of  literature,  and  to  take  an  interest 
in  literary  people ;  but  her  talk  is  quite  superficial, 
and  I  must  say  I  think  her  a  silly  woman.  One 
anecdote  which  she  told  was  very  characteristic,  not 
of  the  hero  of  it,  but  of  herself  and  of  the  English 
people  generally,  as  showing  what  their  tone  and 
feeling  is  respecting  Americans.  Mr.  Bancroft,  while 
minister  here,  was  telling  somebody  about  the  effect 
of  the  London  atmosphere  on  his  wife's  health*  'She 
is  now  very  delicate,'  said  he,  '  whereas,  when  she 
lived  in  New  York,  she  was  one  of  the  most  indeli 
cate  women  in  the  city  ! '  And  Mrs.  Ainsworth  had 
the  face  to  tell  this  foolish  story  for  truth,  and  as  in 
dicating  the  mistakes  into  which  Americans  are  lia 
ble  to  fall  in  the  use  of  the  English  language.  In 
other  instances  I  have  heard  stories  equally  ridicu 
lous  about  our  diplomatic  people,  whom  the  English 
seem  determined  to  make  butts  of,  reason  or  none. 
It  is  very  queer,  the  resolute  quizzing  of  our  man 
ners,  when  we  are  really  and  truly  much  better  fig 
ures,  and  with  much  better  capacity  of  polish,  for 


70  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

drawing-room  or  dining-room,  than  they  themselves 
are.  I  had  been  struck,  on  my  arrival  at  Smith  ell's 
Hall,  by  the  very  rough  aspect  of  these  John  Bulls 
in  their  morning  garb,  —  their  coarse  frock  coats,  gray 
hats,  checked  trousers,  and  stout  shoes.  At  dinner- 
table  it  was  not  at  first  easy  to  recognize  the  same 
individuals,  in  their  white  waistcoats,  muslin  cra 
vats,  thin  black  coats,  with  silk  facings  perhaps,  as 
old  Squire  Ainsworth  himself  had.  But  after  a 
while  you  see  the  same  rough  figure  through  all  the 
finery,  and  become  sensible  that  John  Bull  cannot 
make  himself  fine,  whatever  he  may  put  on.  He  is 
a  rough  animal,  and  his  female  is  well  adapted  to 
him." 

—  That  is  a  frank  and  explicit  bit  of  criticism, 
well  calculated  to  augment  the  cordial  understanding 
between  the  two  countries.  I  have  the  more  pleas 
ure  ii^  quoting  it,  because  the  English  have  less  to 
amend  in  their  attitude  towards  our  countrymen  than 
was  the  case  thirty  years  ago ;  and  on  the  other 
hand,  Mr.  Lowell  does,  I  believe,  speak  English  with 
tolerable  accuracy. 

Leaving  Liverpool  on  the  1st  of  September,  Haw 
thorne  took  his  family  to  London  (pausing  on  the 
way  at  Shrewsbury),  and  hired  lodgings  at  No.  24 
George  Street,  Hanover  Square.  And  now  ensued  a 
month  of  as  great  enjoyment  as  Hawthorne  had  hith 
erto  known  in  England.  No  American  better  quali 
fied  than  he  to  appreciate  its  sights,  its  historic  and 
literary  associations,  its  antiquities  and  its  immensity, 


FROM  THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON.      71 

had  ever  before  lost  himself  in  its  streets.  He  re 
joiced  in  the  human  ocean  that  flooded  its  thorough 
fares  and  eddied  through  its  squares  and  courts ;  he 
greeted  as  old  friends  its  cathedrals,  its  river,  its 
bridges,  its  Tower,  its  inns,  its  Temple,  its  alleys  and 
chop-houses,  —  so  strange  were  they,  and  yet  so  famil 
iar  ;  so  old,  and  so  full  of  novelty.  He  cast  himself 
adrift  upon  the  great  city,  and  cruised  whithersoever 
the  current  took  him ;  and  when  he  could  keep  his 
feefc  no  longer,  he  would  hail  a  hansom  and  trundle 
homeward  in  happy  weariness,  to  begin  his  explora 
tions  afresh  the  next  morning.  His  appetite  for  Lon 
don,  which  had  been  growing  during  his  lifetime,  was 
almost  as  big  as  London  itself ;  he  could  not  gratify 
it  enough.  He  enjoyed  the  vague  and  irresponsible 
wandering  even  more  than  the  deliberate  and  pre 
meditated  sight-seeing ;  but  he  was  always  ready  for 
either.  London  seemed  to  fulfil  his  expectations  bet 
ter  than  any  other  city,  —  better  than  Paris,  or  even 
Rome. 

His  son  accompanied  him  in  many  of  his  other 
wise  solitary  rambles,  and  noticed  a  marked  differ 
ence  between  his  demeanor  then  and  in  their  country 
walks.  On  the  latter  occasions  his  expression  was 
generally  meditative  and  introspective,  and  therefore 
grave ;  but  in  the  London  streets  his  glance  struck 
outward,  gathering  in  all  external  impressions,  and 
his  face  wore  a  look  of  subdued  pleasure.  Sometimes 
he  would  pause  in  front  of  some  famous  edifice  or 
monument,  and  gaze  up  at  it,  —  seldom  for  longer 


72  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

than  a  minute  or  so,  yet  with  an  inspection  so 
comprehensive  and  searching  that  one  felt  sure  he 
carried  the  complete  image  of  it  away  with  him.  In 
a  few  words  he  would  tell  his  companion  the  event 
or  the  association  that  made  the  place  memorable ; 
but  in  a  way  so  simple  and  yet  vivid,  that  the  latter 
would  not  have  felt  surprised  to  meet  the  burly  form 
of  Dr.  Johnson  rolling  along  beneath  Temple  Bar,  or 
to  behold  Addison  and  Steele  chatting  in  the  famous 
coffee-house. 

The  month  passed  away  very  quickly  ;  and  in  the 
second  week  of  October  we  started  for  Southampton, 
whence  the  steamer  which  was  to  convey  Mrs.  Haw 
thorne  and  her  daughters  to  Lisbon  was  to  sail.  The 
night  was  spent  at  the  Castle  Hotel,  not  far  from  the 
steamship  landing.  By  noon  of  the  next  day  we 
were  all  on  board.  "My  wife  behaved  heroically," 
Hawthorne  wrote  ;  "  Una  was  cheerful,  and  Kosebud 
seemed  only  anxious  to  get  off.  Poor  Fanny,  our 
nurse,  was  altogether  cast  down,  and  shed  tears, 
either  from  regret  at  leaving  her  native  land,  or 
dread  of  sickness,  or  general  despondency,  —  being  a 
person  of  no  hope,  or  spring  of  spirits.  Julian  bore 
the  separation  from  his  mother  well,  but  took  occa 
sion  to  remind  me  that  he  had  now  no  one  but  my 
self  to  depend  upon,  and  therefore  suggested  that  I 
should  be  very  kind  to  him.  There  is  more  tender 
ness  in  his  own  manner  towards  me  than  ordinary, 
since  the  great  event.  For  my  own  part,  I  was  not 
depressed  (trusting  in  God's  mercy  that  we  shall  all 


FROM  THE  LAKES  TO  LONDON.      73 

meet  again) ;  but  yet  the  thought  was  not  without  a 
good  deal,  of  pain,  that  we  were  to  be  so  long  sepa 
rated,  —  so  long  a  gap  in  life,  during  which  Una  will 
quite  have  passed  out  of  her  childhood,  and  Eosebud 
out  of  her  babyhood ;  for  I  shall  not  find  them  exactly 
such  as  I  leave  them,  even  if  we  are  apart  only  two 
or  three  months.  This  will  be  a  kind  of  era  in  their 
lives.  My  wife,  I  hope  and  pray,  will  meet  me  in 
better  health  and  strength  than  for  two  years  past." 

The  vessel  steamed  away ;  and  the  two  who  were 
left  behind  walked  to  the  railway  station,  and  took 
the  train  for  Worcester.  Spending  the  next  night 
there,  they  proceeded  to  Liverpool  the  following  day, 
where  they  were  met  by  a  driving  rain-storm,  com 
plicated  by  rejoicings  for  the  surrender  of  Sebastopol. 
It  was  comforting  to  get  at  last  to  Mrs.  Blodgett's, 
and  sit  down,  at  nine  o'clock,  to  a  hearty  supper. 


74  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MRS.  BLODGETT'S,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON. 

THE  company  at  Mrs.  Blodgett's,  though  not  con 
sisting  of  the  most  cultivated  persons  imaginable, 
was  very  hearty  and  genuine;  and  Hawthorne  was 
as  well  content  with  it,  for  every-day  purposes,  as 
with  any  in  England.  He  had,  indeed,  an  hereditary 
sympathy  with  Yankee  sea-captains,  and  found  satis 
faction  in  the  downright  simplicity  and  sagacity  of 
their  talk.  "  Captain  Johnson,"  he  writes,  "  assigned 
as  a  reason  for  not  boarding  at  this  house,  that  the 
conversation  made  him  sea-sick;  and,  indeed,  the 
smell  of  tar  and  bilge-water  is  somewhat  strongly  per 
ceptible  in  it.  Indisputably  these  men  are  alive,  and 
to  an  extent  to  which  the  Englishman  never  seems 
conscious  of  life.  It  would  do  John  Bull  good  to 
come  and  sit  at  our  table,  and  adjourn  with  us  to  our 
smoking-room;  but  he  would  be  apt  to  go  away 
a  little  crestfallen." 

The  smoking-room  was  an  apartment  barely  twenty 
feet  square,  though  of  a  fair  height ;  but  the  captains 
smoked  a  great  deal,  and  by  nine  o'clock  sat  enveloped 
in  a  blue  cloud.  They  played  euchre  with  a  jovial 
persistence  that  seems  wonderful  in  the  retrospect, 


MRS.  BLODGETTS,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.      75 

especially  as  there  was  no  gambling.  The  small  boys 
in  the  house  (there  were  two  or  three)  soon  succeeded 
in  mastering  the  mysteries  of  the  game,  and  occasion 
ally  took  a  hand  with  the  captains.  Hawthorne  was 
always  ready  to  play,  and  used  to  laugh  a  great  deal 
at  the  turns  of  fortune.  He  rather  enjoyed  card- 
playing,  and  was  a  very  good  hand  at  whist;  and 
knew,  besides,  a  number  of  other  games,  many  of 
which  are  now  out  of  fashion,  but  which  he,  I  sup 
pose,  had  learned  in  his  college  days.  Be  the  diver 
sion  or  the  conversation  what  it  might,  he  was  never 
lacking  in  geniality  and  good-fellowship ;  and  sparkles 
of  wit  and  good  humor  continually  came  brightening 
out  of  his  mouth,  making  the  stalwart  captains  haw- 
haw  prodigiously,  and  wonder,  perhaps,  where  his 
romances  came  from.  Nevertheless,  in  his  official 
capacity,  he  sometimes  made  things  (in  their  own 
phrase)  rather  lively  for  them ;  and  it  is  a  tribute  to 
his  unfailing  good  sense  and  justice,  that  his  enforce 
ment  of  the  law  never  made  him  unpopular. 

The  talk  was  .not  entirely  of  ships  and  things  mar 
itime  ;  one  might  hear  there,  at  first  hand,  tales  of 
all  parts  of  the  world,  and  anecdotes  of  all  persons, 
from  royalty  downwards.  "  The  Doctor,"  writes  Haw 
thorne,  "  told  a  story  of  the  manner  in  which  the 
young  Queen  intimated  to  Prince  Albert  that  she 
had  bestowed  her  heart  on  him.  All  the  eligible 
young  princes  in  Europe  had  been  invited  to  England 
to  visit  the  Queen,  —  trotted  out,  as  it  were,  for  in 
spection  ;  and  all  were  suffered  to  take  their  leave, 


76  HA  WTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

in  due  time,  —  all  but  Prince  Albert.  When  he  came 
to  pay  his  parting  compliments,  the  Queen  said  to 
him,  '  It  depends  on  yourself  whether  you  go!'  This 
is  rather  pretty."  He  adds  :  "  The  Doctor  avers  that 
Prince  Albert's  immediate  attendants  speak  contemp 
tuously  ('  lightly '  was  his  precise  word)  of  him,  as  a 
slow,  commonplace  man." 

Here  is  a  passage  on  a  more  homely  topic :  "  Last 
evening  two  or  three  young  men  called  in  fortui 
tously  to  see  some  young  ladies  of  our  household,  and 
chatted  in  parlor,  hall,  and  smoking-room,  just  as 
they  might  have  done  in  America.  They  stayed  to 
tea  with  us.  In  our  party  of  perhaps  half  a  dozen 
married  women  and  virgins,  there  are  two  or  three 
who  may  fairly  be  called  pretty,  —  an  immense  pro 
portion  compared  with  what  one  finds  among  the 
women  of  England,  where,  indeed,  I  could  almost  say 
I  have  found  none.  The  aspect  of  my  countrywomen, 
to  be  sure,  seems  to  me  somewhat  peculiarly  delicate, 
thin,  pale,  after  becoming  accustomed  to  the  beefy 
rotundity  and  coarse  complexions  of  the  full-fed  Eng 
lish  dames ;  but,  slight  as  they  look,  they  always 
prove  themselves  sufficient  for  the  whole  purpose  of 
life.  Then  the  lightness,  the  dance,  the  ebullition  of 
their  minds,  is  so  much  pleasanter  than  the  English 
propriety  !  I  have  not  heard  such  a  babble  of  femi 
nine  voices,  on  this  side  of  the  water,  as  I  heard  last 
night  from  these  ladies,  sitting  round  the  table  in  the 
parlor,  —  all  busy,  all  putting  in  their  word,  all  ready 
with  their  laugh." 


MRS.  BLODGETTS,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.      77 

Christmas  day  was  observed  with  much  heartiness 
at  Mrs.  Blodgett's ;  branches  of  mistletoe  were  hung 
up  everywhere,  and  it  was  dangerous  to  pass  beneath 
them.  The  Yankee  captains  were  extremely  gallant 
to  the  ladies  of  the  household  on  this  occasion ;  and 
something  like  a  plot  was  organized  to  inveigle  the 
American  Consul  into  paying  due  observance  to  the 
ceremony.  The  cook  and  the  maid-servants,  espe 
cially  (who  were  allowed  exceptional  privileges  at  this 
celebration),  openly  threatened  to  catch  this  grand- 
looking  gentleman  and  kiss  him;  and  the  captains, 
and  even  Mrs.  Blodgett  herself,  were  prepared  to 
assist  them  in  their  design.  The  Consul,  neverthe 
less,  managed  to  escape ;  but  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  uproar  and  merriment,  and  it  was  a  standing  joke 
among  some  of  Hawthorne's  English  friends,  long 
afterwards,  that  he  had,  in  truth,  succumbed.  Henry 
Bright,  in  particular,  wrote  a  poem  containing  a  ref 
erence  to  this  matter,  which  has  fortunately  been  pre 
served.  "  Hiawatha "  had  lately  been  published  in 
England,  and  had  attracted  a  great  deal  of  attention 
and  comment,  not  always  of  a  respectful  or  apprecia 
tive  kind.  Henry  Chorley  had  a  review  of  it  in  the 
"  Athenaeum,"  written  in  a  highly  unreceptive  spirit. 
Mr.  Bright  employed  the  metre  of  "Hiawatha"  in 
his  verses,  which  run  as  follows:  — 


78  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 


SONG  OF  CONSUL  HAWTHORNE. 

SHOULD  you  ask  me,  "Who  is  Hawthorne? 
Who  this  Hawthorne  that  you  mention  ? " 
I  should  answer,  I  should  tell  you, 
"  Pie  's  a  Yankee,  who  has  written 
Many  books  you  must  have  heard  of ; 
For  ho  wrote  '  The  Scarlet  Letter ' 
And  'The  House  of  Seven  Gables,' 
Wrote,  too,  '  Rappacini's  Daughter/ 
And  a  lot  of  other  stories;  — 
Some  are  long,  and  some  are  shorter ; 
Some  are  good,  and  some  are  better. 
And  this  Hawthorne  is  a  Consul, 
Sitting  in  a  dismal  office,  — 
Dark  and  dirty,  dingy  office, 
Full  of  mates,  and  full  of  captains, 
Full  of  sailors  and  of  niggers,  — 
And  he  lords  it  over  Yankees." 

But  you  ask  me,  "  Where  the  dwelling, 

Where  the  mansion,  of  this  Hawthorne  ? " 

And  I  answer,  and  I  tell  you, 

*"T  is  a  house  in  upper  Duke  Street,  — 

*T  is  a  red  brick  house  in  Duke  Street. 

Should  you  ask  me  further,  saying, 

"Where  this  house  in  upper  Duke  Street  ?" 

I  should  answer,  I  should  tell  you, 

"  'T  is  the  house  of  Missis  Todgers,  — 

House  of  good  old  widow  Todgers, 

Where  the  noble  Yankee  captains 

Meet,  and  throng,  and  spend  their  evening, 

Hairy  all,  and  all  dyspeptic, 

All  of  them  with  nasal  voices, 

Speaking  all  through  nasal  organs, 

All  of  them  with  pig  tobacco, 

All  of  them  with  Colt's  revolvers." 


MRS.  BLODGETT*S,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.       79 

Should  you  ask  me  what  they  do  there,  — 
What  the  manners  and  the  customs 
Of  this  house  of  widow  lodgers,  — 
I  should  tell  you  that  at  Christmas 
Mistletoe  hangs  in  the  parlors, 
Mistletoe  on  hall  and  staircase, 
Mistletoe  in  every  chamber  ; 
And  the  maids  at  widow  lodgers', 
Slyly  laughing,  softly  stealing, 
Whisper,  "  Kiss  me,  Yankee  Captain,  — 
Kiss  or  shilling,  Yankee  Captain  !  " 
Slyly  laughing,  softly  saying, 
"Kiss  from  you  too,  Consul  Hawthorne  1 
Kiss  or  shilling,  Consul  Hawthorne  !  "  l  — 
I  should  tell  you  how,  at  midnight 
•    Of  the  last  day  in  December, 

Yankee  Captain,  Consul  Hawthorne, 
Open  wide  the  mansion's  front  door,  — 
Door  that  opens  into  Duke  Street,  — 
Wait  to  see  the  hoary  Old  Year 
Pass  into  the  frosty  starlight,  — 
Wait  to  see  the  jocund  New  Year 
Come  with  all  its  hopes  and  pleasures, 
Come  into  the  gas  and  firelight. 

Do  you  ask  me,  "  Tell  me  further 
Of  this  Consul,  of  this  Hawthorne  "  ? 
I  would  say,  he  is  a  sinner,  — 
Eeprobate  and  churchless  sinner,  — 
Never  goes  inside  a  chapel, 
Only  sees  outsides  of  chapels, 
Says  his  prayers  without  a  chapel ! 
I  would  say  that  he  is  lazy, 
Very  lazy,  good-for-nothing  ; 
Hardly  ever  goes  to  dinners, 
Never  goes  to  balls  or  soirees  ; 
Thinks  one  friend  worth  twenty  friendly  ; 
i  A  fib!  —  N.  H. 


80  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

Cares  for  love,  but  not  for  liking  ; 
Hardly  knows  a  dozen  people,  — 
Knows  old  Baucis  l  and  Philemon,2 
Knows  a  Beak,3  and  knows  a  Parson,4 
Knows  a  sucking,  scribbling  merchant,5  — 
Hardly  knows  a  soul  worth  knowing,  — 
Lazy,  good-for-nothing  fellow  ! 

This  little  jeu  d'esprit  pleased  Hawthorne  much ; 
there  are  touches  of  true  affection  and  discrimina 
tion  hidden  here  and  there  in  the  doggerel.  But  be 
fore  this  date  letters  had  been  received  from  Mrs. 
Hawthorne  in  Lisbon. 

LISBON,  PATEO  DE  GERALDES,  Oct.  27,  1855. 

MY  DARLING  BOY,  —  Your  letter  delighted  me 
extremely.  It  was  very  well  expressed,  and  spelt 
pretty  well.  I  am  sure  you  cannot  help  being  happy 
with  papa,  and  I  should  think  it  would  be  a  great 
encouragement  to  be  good  to  be  in  his  society.  You 
must  confide  to  him  all  your  heart  and  life,  so  as  not 
to  be  shut  up  and  alone.  You  will  find  him  ready 
to  sympathize  always  with  you,  and  his  wisdom  and 
experience  will  help  you  to  do  and  to  judge  rightly. 

I  am  really  gted  you  did  not  come  to  Lisbon  in  the 
season  of  mosquitoes ;  and  the  fleas  are  still  worse. 
We  have  mosquito-nets ;  but  fleas  are  able  to  hop 
through  pin-holes.  We  have  not  been  very  gay  at 
the  Pateo ;  but  the  other  evening  I  went  to  the  opera 

i  A.  M.  Heywood.  2  I.  P.  Heywood. 

»  1.  S.  Mansfield.  *  W.  H.  Charming. 

5  H.  A.  Bright. 


MRS.  BLODGETT'S,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.       81 

with  the  "  Seflor  Ministro "  (as  the  Portuguese  call 
Mr.  O'Sullivan)  and  Aunt  Sue,  and  I  saw  a  beauti 
ful  ballet.  It  was  as  beautiful  as  the  pantomime  you 
saw  in  Liverpool,  —  "  The  Butterflies'  Ball,"  —  but 
different.  It  was  all  about  flowers :  each  fairy  was  a 
flower;  and  the  music  was  so  wonderfully  delicate 
and  blossomy,  that  I  think  we  all  felt  as  if  we  were 
flowers^  tossing  in  a  soft  wind.  It  was  like  audible 
flowers,  summer  breezes,  and  bird  songs  all  blended 
together  in  a  delicious  bouquet  of  sound.  .  .  .  After 
the  ballet  Mr.  O'Sullivan  wanted  me  to  wait  until 
the  moment  his  carriage  drew  up,  and  so  he  left  Aunt 
Sue  and  me  in  the  box  to  go  to  tell  Gregorio  the 
footman  about  it.  While  he  was  gone,  all  at  once 
out  went  the  grand  chandelier,  and  left  us  almost  in 
darkness.  And  then  the  porter  came  and  locked  the 
door  of  our  box !  Upon  this  Aunt  Sue  sprang  up 
and  pounded  the  door,  and  called  out  "  Espera  1 "  and 
so  the  man  unlocked  it  again.  During  the  play  I 
peeped  at  the  King  through  the  opera-glass;  and  just 
as  I  got  his  face  well  into  my  glass,  he  raised  his 
glass  to  look  at  me  and  discover  what  new  person 
was  in  the  American  Minister's  box^md  so  in  this 
way  we  could  neither  see  the  other.  There  was  a 
great  Duchess  there,  the  Duchess  of  Palmella;  and 
she  is  as  big  as  a  centre-table,  and  her  features,  in  the 
midst  of  an  acre  of  cheeks  and  chin,  look  as  if  they 
had  lost  themselves  on  a  vast  plain.  Her  arm  is  as 
large  as  Aunt  Sue's  waist,  and  her  waist  could  not  be 
measured  very  well.  Though  so  huge  and  really 

VOL.  II.  6 


82  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

monstrous,  this  poor  lady  is  very  young,  —  only 
twenty-four,  —  while  I  thought  she  was  sixty.  She 
was  married  at  twelve,  and  her  young  husband  has 
epileptic  fits.  So  you  see  a  noble  Duchess,  the  first 
noble  in  the  land,  with  palaces  and  luxury,  can  be 
very  uncomfortable  and  unhappy,  as  well  as  a  poor 
beggar.  —  I  hope  you  will  excuse  that  ugly  blot  on 
the  paper.  I  do  not  at  all  know  how  it  came  there, 
—  it  seems  to  have  something  to  do  with  the  blotted 
life  of  the  poor  Duchess  of  Palmella.  I  am  sure  she 
will  be  glad  when  her  soul  soars  out  of  its  vast  and 
misshapen  house  of  clay. 

In  a  few  days  it  will  be  a  hundred  years  since 
the  great  earthquake  in  Lisbon,  and  there  is  to  be 
a  centennial  celebration.  If  anything  is  done  worth 
describing,  I  will  write  you  about  it.  From  the  win 
dows  on  the  east  side  of  this  house  we  can  see  the 
deep  valley  that  was  made  by  the  swallowing  up  of 
that  part  of  the  city.  It  is  now  the  modern  part, 
and  built  up  very  statelily,  with  straight  streets  cross 
ing  each  other  on  a  plain;  while  the  rest  of  Lisbon  is 
all  up  and  down  hill  \in  a  picturesque  fashion,  but 
tiresome  for  walking.  Good-night ;  be  good,  and  God 
bless  you. 

YOUR  AFFECTIONATE   MAMMA. 

When  you  see  any  spots  on  your  clothes,  be  sure 
and  ask  some  one  to  wash  them  off  for  you. 

—  Some  intermediate  letters  have  been  lost;  but 
the  longer  of  the  two  following  gives  a  very  complete 
picture  of  the  Portuguese  Court. 


MRS.  BLODGETTS,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.       83 

NOVEMBER  13,  1855. 

MY  DARLING  JULIAN,  —  I  am  much  obliged  to  you 
for  your  important  conclusions  about  the  war.  But 
not  even  the  prospect  of  seeing  the  "  Wayside  "  could 
make  me  welcome  a  war  between  mother  and  daugh 
ter,  as  I  consider  England  and  America ;  a  daughter, 
to  be  sure,  quite  independent  of  her  mother,  —  mar 
ried  to  the  eagle,  that  free  citizen  of  the  air,  —  but 
still  inalienably  her  daughter.  And  I  trust  that 
neither  your  sword  nor  that  of  any  other  young  or 
old  American  will  ever  find  its  way  to  an  English 
heart. 

I  have  been  to  another  opera,  and  seen  another 
ballet,  but  not  so  pretty  a  one  as  the  "  Spirits  of  the 
Flowers."  The  story  was  of  a  young  sculptor  who  had 
made  a  statue  of  a  Bohemian  dancing-girl ;  and  the 
evil  spirit  told  him  he  would  give  it  life  if  he  would 
promise  not  to  fall  in  love  with  it ;  and  if  he  did,  be 
would  immediately  turn  her  back  into  a  statue.  The 
young  sculptor  promises,  and  Mephistopheles  gives 
life  to  the  maiden,  and  she  steps  daintily  down  from 
her  pedestal,  dazzling  with  jewels  and  soft  with  lace, 
and  dances  about  very  bewitchingly.  Troops  of  pretty 
dancing-girls  join  her,  and  the  evil  spirit  —  his  cap 
and  jacket  slashed  with  fire  —  darts  in  and  out  among 
the  airy  forms,  and  plays  the  maddest  pranks ;  and 
finally  the  sculptor  forgets  his  promise,  and  loses  his 
heart  entirely  to  the  brilliant  Bohemienne,  and  so  he 
loses  her.  • 

The   King  was  not  present  that  evening,  which 


84  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

made  a  great  difference  in  the  scene ;  but  your  friend, 
the  big  Duchess  of  Palmella,  was  there.  I  believe  I 
have  not  told  you  that  the  late  Queen,  Dona  Maria  II., 
was  so  enormous  in  size  that  she  exceeded  even  the 
Duchess ;  and  her  body  was  entirely  too  large  to  go 
through  the  great  door  of  the  royal  burial  vault.  Do 
you  not  hope  that  your  little  mamma  will  not  roll 
home  to  England  in  a  spherical  form  ?  But,  no  !  I 
cannot  grow  stouter  while  you  and  papa  are  a  thou 
sand  miles  away  from  ine.  It  is  impossible  to  be 
jolly  unless  we  are  all  together.  Tell  papa  I  wish 
he  would  send  poor  me  a  photograph  of  you  and  of 
himself.  It  would  be  such  a  solace.  Good-by. 

YOUR  OWN  MAMMA. 

LISBON,  PATEO  DE  GERALDES,  Jan.  22,  1856. 
MY  DEAREST  JULIAN,  —  I  left  off  my  letter  to  you 
in  the  midst  of  my  presentation  to  the  King.  Dom 
Fernando  said  he  was  going  to  Seville  for  the  holy 
week,  and  it  would  be  the  first  time  he  had  left 
Portugal  since  he  came  to  it.  Then  mamma  turned 
to  the  young  King  and  said,  "Will  your  Majesty 
accompany  your  father  ? "  He  smiled  sadly  and 
shook  his  head,  and  his  father  spoke:  "No;  he  has 
no  permission,  and  he  has  had  his  journey.  Now 
it  is  time  for  me."  But  he  said  it  was  very  painful 
to  him  to  leave  Lisbon,  because  he  must  leave  the 
princesses,  his  little  daughters.  Aunt  Sue  endeav 
ored  to  comfort  him  with  the  joy  of  return.  He 
then  asked  me  whether  I  liked  Lisbon;  and  I  said 


MRS.  BLODGETTS,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.       85 

that  the  Pateo  de  Geraldes  was  Lisbon  for  me,  and 
that  I  liked  that  very  much.  He  replied  with  a 
laugh,  and  a  glance  at  Aunt  Sue,  and  said,  "If 
I  could  go  there,  the  sun  would  shine  for  me  too." 
Was  not  that  a  pretty  speech  ?  He  told  me  I  had 
had  no  chance  to  see  Lisbon  in  such  weather;  for 
never  had  been  known  such  a  winter  as  this.  He 
asked  me  how  long  I  would  stay.  I  said,  "  Several 
months,  Sire ; "  and  then  his  Majesty  was  so  polite  as 
to  say,  "I  am  very  glad  of  it."  It  would  puzzle  the 
Seven  Wise  Men  to  find  out  why  the  Regent  should 
be  glad  of  my  presence  in  Lisbon.  When  he  said 
the  sun  would  shine  for  him  if  he  could  come  here, 
Aunt  Sue  told  him  how  happy  she  should  be  to  re 
ceive  him,  and  that  she  would  make  it  as  brilliant 
as  she  could.  With  the  most  animated  air,  he  ex 
claimed,  "Soon?  now?"  "Not  this  winter,  Sire,  on 
account  of  our  mourning."  "Ah,  certainly !"  he  said. 
Aunt  Sue  and  Ellie  are  such  particular  favorites  of 
the  King  that  he  likes  to  see  them  as  often  as  he  can. 
And  as  Aunt  Sue  intended  to  have  Quinzaines  (fort 
nightly  soirees)  this  winter,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  death  of  Tom  O'Sullivan  and  Ellie's  illness,  he 
expected  to  see  them  this  winter,  as  he  would  have 
honored  the  Pateo  de  Geraldes  with  his  royal  pres 
ence  sometimes.  He  is  rather  impatient  of  being 
"  hedged  in  with  greatness,"  and  was  very  glad  to 
give  his  sceptre  into  the  hands  of  his  son.  The  very 
day  after  he  did  so,  Mr.  Martin  told  me  that  he  was 
seen,  without  state,  going  up  Rua  d'Oro  with  all  the 


86  HAWTHORNE  AND  EIS   WIFE. 

little  princes  behind  him,  —  breathing  free  breath  for 
once.  He  slipped  out  of  the  palace  without  any  one 
knowing  it ;  and  having  never  been  out  alone  before, 
he  declared  he  was  a  little  afraid,  though  very  happy. 
I  suppose  he  felt  very  much  as  a  little  boy  would  feel 
who  had  never  been  untied  from  his  mamma's  apron, 
and  who  all  at  once  cut  the  string  and  ran  away,  and 
found  himself  in  the  great  world  of  a  street  with  no 
nurse  to  restrain  him,  tremendously  delighted,  but  ex 
ceedingly  fearful  of  being  lost,  stolen,  or  killed. 

Meanwhile  the  "old  King"  was  leaning  against  a 
golden  pier-table  of  this  reception-room,  much  at  his 
ease,  close  by  Aunt  Sue;  and  the  "young  King"  stood 
in  a  pensive  attitude  near  me,  sad,  but  with  an  amiable 
shadow-smile  on  his  face,  and  an  expression  of  con 
straint.  I  did  not  find  it  at  all  embarrassing  to  be  in 
private  audience  with  two  kings.  I  could  have  talked 
with  much  interest  and  animation  to  Dom  Pedro  V.  if 
I  had  not  felt  a  little  anxious  about  whether  I  should 
say  "your  Majesty"  often  enough,  being  quite  unused 
to  a  royal  tete-a-tete.  But  just  as  I  was  endeavoring 
to  arrange  a  sentence,  Dom  Fernando  suddenly  dis 
missed  us  with  a  graceful  bow  and  "  Good-by."  Dom 
Pedro  gravely  bowed  also,  and  then  we  commenced 
going  backwards  from  the  august  presences.  I  ac 
complished  my  retreat  without  trouble  some  distance, 
when  Dom  Fernando,  with  an  amiable  consideration, 
turned  his  face — and  so  we  could  turn  ours  a  little — 
till  he  and  his  son  arrived  at  the  threshold  of  the 
door  they  entered,  when  they  both  looked  round,  and 


MRS.  BLODGETT'S,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.       87 

bowed,  and  smiled  again,  and  vanished  from  our 
sight.  Oh,  I  forgot  that  in  the  process  of  retreating 
face  to  face,  Do  in  Fernando  came  towards  us  again, 
and  said  to  Aunt  Sue,  "How  are  the  cats?"  —  refer 
ring  to  the  charming  pen-sketch  he  made  of  five  cats 
in  Aunt  Sue's  album.  I  believe  she  replied,  "  Sire, 
they  are  waiting  for  the  others;"  at  which  he  laughed 
and  said,  "I  know  what  that  means."  He  had  prom 
ised  her  some  etchings  of  his  designs,  which  had  not 
yet  appeared. 

The  Count  Linheres,  Lord  Chamberlain,  received 
us  in  the  anteroom ;  and  then  his  Grace,  the  Duke 
cle  Soldanha,  Prime  Minister  and  Marshal  of  the 
Kingdom,  met  us,  and  Aunt  Sue  introduced  me  to 
him,  and  then  had  a  very  merry  and  spirited  talk 
with  him  in  English,  which  lie  speaks  perfectly  well. 
The  Duke  was  in  uniform,  in  undress,  and  is  a  very 
handsome  old  man,  with  very  white  mustachios  and 
hair,  and  apparently  in  great  vigor  of  health  and  spirit. 
He  seemed  fond  of  Aunt  Sue,  and  enjoyed  her  jeux 
$  esprit  exceedingly,  and  told  her  he  was  coming  to 
her  reception  the  next  Wednesday,  when  he  washed 
to  -pay  his  respects  also  to  Madame  O'Sullivan. 
After  our  interview  witli  this  illustrious  person,  we 
bade  farewell  to  the  lady  of  honor  who  had  received 
us,  and  departed  through  the  avenue  of  arches  to 
our  carriage. 

And  now  I  have  access  to  the  palace  upon  all 
occasions,  and  the  next  Sunday  evening  was  obliged 
to  go  to  a  fortnightly  private  soiree,  and  pay  my 


88  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

respects  with  all  the  other  peers  and  peeresses  and 
the  diplomatic  corps.  Shall  I  tell  you  how  I  was 
dressed  for  this  mighty  occasion  ?  I  will  try.  I 
wore  that  violet  brocade  (which  color  here  is  mourn 
ing),  with  a  corsage  of  low  neck  and  short  sleeves, 
trimmed  with  Mechlin  lace  and  violet  ribbons  by  a 
Parisian  modiste.  Close  round  my  throat  was  a 
black  velvet  ribbon,  holding  a  pendant  of  diamonds 
in  front.  In  front  of  my  corsage  was  a  pearl  brooch, 
and  a  bouquet  of  white  and  purple  violets.  I  wore 
jet  bracelets  on  one  arm,  and  on  the  other  a  gold 
one  with  a  great  carbuncle  suspended  from  it ;  white 
kid  gloves,  and  an  India  fan  of  ivory,  delicately 
wrought.  My  hair  was  rolled  in  the  coronet  fashion ; 
and  four  white  feathers,  two  on  each  side,  drooped 
downwards  towards  my  neck.  What  do  you  think 
of  mamma  in  this  costume  ?  Aunt  Sue,  being  in 
deep  mourning,  wore  a  black  velvet  dress,  with  a 
white  and  gold  feather  in  her  hair.  Uncle  John 
never  looked  so  well  in  full  dress  as  in  his  home 
costume,  and  never  so  well  as  when  buttoned  up  to 
his  throat,  with  no  appearance  of  white  except  his 
collar.  The  only  sign  of  his  rank  that  he  allows 
himself  is  buttons  with  the  eagle  on  his  coat.  But 
on  that  evening  the  diplomatic  corps  and  officers 
(except  the  highest,  and  their  aids)  were  not  in  full 
costume,  because  it  was  a  social  soiree,  and  not  a  state 
occasion. 

Well,  we  drove  off  to  the  palace,  and  upon  arriving 
found  the  staircase,  with  its  beautiful  border  of  bas- 


MRS.  BLODGETTS,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.       89 

relief,  lined  with  scarlet  and  gold  archers  with  shining- 
pikes,  as  also  was  the  first  anteroom.  On  one  side 
of  this  first  anteroom  was  a  stand  of  pikes,  beauti 
fully  arranged  in  a  fan-shape.  Next  to  this  was  the 
robing-room,  where  were  ushers  in  black,  with  small 
clothes  and  black  silk  hose.  There  we  took  off  our 
mantles.  The  first  saloon  was  full  of  ladies,  for  we 
were  a  little  late.  We  were  arrested  at  the  entrance 
by  finding  the  Countess  of  Tarrobo,  daughter  of  the 
Grand  Duke,  who  is  an  intimate  friend  of  Ellie,  and 
wanted  to  know  about  her  from  Aunt  Sue.  All  the 
ladies  sat  in  a  regular  line  round  the  walls  of  the 
saloon ;  for  it  is  etiquette  for  the  ladies  constantly  to 
sit,  and  for  the  gentlemen  by  no  means  to  do  so  for 
a  moment  during  the  evening.  Uncle  John  wanted 
to  find  us  chairs,  but  there  was  not  one  to  be  seen 
empty;  so  he  left  us  and  went  on  to  examine  the 
next  and  larger  saloon.  There  he  found  one  seat,  to 
which  he  conducted  mamma ;  and  then  he  brought  a 
chair  from  some  other  place  for  Aunt  Sue.  Very 
soon  I  saw  the  Countess  of  Schlippenback,  Madame 
d'Ozeroff,  the  Russian  Ministress,  and  her  lovely 
daughters,  —  the  Moon  and  the  Star,  as  I  call  Marie 
and  Nadine.  In  a  saloon  on  the  side  of  that  where 
we  sat  were  crowds  of  gentlemen  round  the  Kings 
and  Serene  Princes. 

By  and  by  Madame  d'Ozeroff  broke  the  iron  rules, 
and  came  to  speak  to  me,  and  asked  me  to  wander 
with  her  through  the  throne-room  and  the  late 
Queen's  favorite  little  drawing-room.  So  then  I 


90  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

first  saw  a  throne.  It  was  a  raised  dais,  two  steps 
from  the  floor;  and  upon  it  were  two  sumptuous 
chairs  covered  with  velvet  and  gold,  with  an  ample 
overhanging  canopy  of  velvet  and  gold.  No  chairs 
are  in  this  room ;  for  no  one  can  sit  in  the  presence 
of  the  King  upon  his  throne.  Magnificent  chande 
liers  of  crystal  and  gold,  with  wax  candles,  lighted 
this  as  well  as  all  the  rooms ;  and  the  windows 
were  draped  with  red  damask  curtains,  and  the  walls 
hung  with  vast  mirrors.  It  looked  lonely  and  deso 
late  and  grand.  The  next  was  the  Queen's  drawing- 
room.  The  walls  were  panelled,  and  very  lovely 
pictures  painted  on  the  panels ;  and  they  were  the 
charm  of  the  room.  A  door  in  each  of  these  rooms 
opened  upon  the  great  drawing-room  of  the  Kings, 
which  seemed  crowded  with  uniforms  and  black- 
robed  dignitaries.  We  then  returned  to  our  seats. 
Opposite  me,  just  in  front  of  a  golden  pier-table  over 
which  hung  a  vast  mirror,  sat  the  Baroness  Eegaleina, 
a  stately  dame  in  black  velvet,  in  perfect  toilette,  in 
perfect  attitude,  in  dignified,  imperturbable  repose 
and  ease.  I  call  her  my  Baroness  Eegular.  She  is 
a  lady  of  a  very  proud  and  noble  family,  who  had 
called  upon  me,  and  whom  I  had  called  upon,  but 
had  never  yet  seen.  Her  appearance  was  so  very 
distinguished  that  no  one  else  looked  like  anything 
at  all  on  either  side  of  her.  My  Baroness  Kegular 
ruled  supreme  at  that  end  of  the  saloon.  Midway 
on  one  side  sat  the  Countess  de  Belmonte,  daughter 
of  one  of  the  Infantas.  She  is  a  handsome  statue, 


MRS.  BLODGETTS,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.       91 

with  a  look  of  proud  indifference  on  her  face.  Next 
her  sat  her  sister,  the  widowed  Countess  Linheres,  a 
very  different  person,  —  dark,  animated,  and  not  so 
handsome,  but  with  more  vivid  soul  in  her  eyes.  So 
we  sat,  and  sat;  and  presently  gentlemen  came  in 
from  the  Kings,  and  all  who  had  been  introduced  to 
me  came  and  said  a  few  words ;  and  the  agreeable 
Countess  Balsamas  came  and  sat  by  me,  and  talked  a 
little  while. 

Suddenly  entered  Dom  Fernando,  just  beside  Aunt 
Sue  and  me;  and  immediately  caused  a  sensation, 
for  he  is  a  great  favorite.  He  first  approached 
Aunt  Sue ;  and  so  she  rose,  and  I  also  by  her  side ; 
and,  exceedingly  to  the  surprise  of  the  four  lines  of 
ladies,  —  all  dazzled  by  the  presence  of  his  Majesty, 
being  all  subjects  of  kings  or  emperors,  —  Aunt 
Sue  carried  on  a  brilliant  conversation  with  Dom 
Fernando,  causing  him  so  much  merriment  that  he 
laughed  aloud,  and  half  whirled  round  on  his  royal 
heel.  I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  say  that  this 
King  has  an  imperfection  in  his  organs  of  speech, 
which  obliges  him  to  give  rather  a  nasal  twang  to  his 
words ;  and  it  is  a  thousand  pities  that  so  charming 
a  prince  should  have  any  blemish  in  his  utterance. 
Aunt  Sue  dared  to  jest  with  him,  and  to  pretend  she 
was  going  to  Paris  instead  of  to  Madeira ;  and  to 
assure  him  that  she  could  read  his  face,  and  knew 
that  he  already  very  well  understood  just  what  he  was 
appearing  to  be  ignorant  of.  I  asked  him  whether 
he  would  not  come  to  Madeira  and  reign  over  us 


92  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

there ;  and  lie  said  he  had  too  much  to  do  here  at 
present,  and  must  assist  his  son.  He  asked  how 
long  we  should  stay.  Aunt  Sue  told  him  six  months ; 
and  he  said  that  was  a  very  long  time,  and  she  prob 
ably  would  never  see  him  again,  for  he  expected  to 
die  soon.  He  said  he  did  not  wish  to  grow  old  (he 
is  thirty-five);  for,  said  he,  pulling  his  royal  beard, 
which  is  long,  "  how  would  this  look  all  white  ?  " 
Susan  told  him  it  would  look  very  venerable  and 
handsome ;  but  he  shook  his  head  and  said,  "  No, 
no  ! "  Everybody  was  astonished,  and  everybody 
curious  and  mystified ;  for  we  talked  English,  and  all 
those  around  understood  only  French  and  Portuguese. 
After  an  unusually  long  interview,  his  Majesty  sud 
denly  bowed  and  passed  on ;  but  I  did  not  once  hear 
his  merry  laugh  afterwards.  Everybody  looked  very 
regular  and  proper  as  soon  as  his  eye  rested  on  them. 
He  went  all  round,  saying  a  few  words  to  each  group 
of  ladies.  As  he  entered  the  other  saloon,  our  friend 
Carlos  de  Souza,  one  of  the  Duke's  aids,  was  standing 
in  the  door,  and  he  stooped  his  head  and  kissed  the 
King's  hand.  It  was  the  farthest  end  of  the  room  from 
me ;  but  after  this  act  of  homage  he  turned  and  met 
my  eye,  and  bowed  two  or  three  times  with  an  air  of 
great  content,  and  presently  came  across  and  talked 
awhile.  He  was  in  full  uniform,  with  golden  ropes 
hanging  from  his  shoulder  to  his  breast,  showing  that 
he  was  on  duty  to  the  great  Marshal. 

So  we  sat,  and  sat,  I  should  think,  nearly  two  hours 
more,  not  able  to  go  or  to  rest  until  the  young  King 


MRS.  BLODGETT'S,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.       93 

should  see  fit  to  come  and  speak  to  us.  There  was  a 
great  buzz  now;  for  a  great  many  gentlemen  had  come 
in,  and  were  talking  and  laughing.  But  all  at  once 
there  was  an  instant  hush,  for  the  youthful  monarch 
appeared  at  the  door  of  his  drawing-room.  Madame 
d'Ozeroff  sat  close  to  it,  and  so  he  commenced  with  her. 
But  he  skipped  the  ladies  by  sixes.  When  he  ap 
proached  Aunt  Sue  and  mamma,  a  lady  near  us  begged 
we  would  shelter  her  behind  us,  for  she  had  not  cour 
age  to  face  him.  Every  group  upon  which  this  sun  of 
royalty  shone  rose  up  as  if  by  magic  until  he  turned 
his  royal  face  another  way.  He  stopped  at  Aunt 
Sue  and  me.  He  was  in  magnificent  costume.  On 
his  breast  was  an  order  in  such  superb  diamonds  that 
they  were  positively  dazzling, — blinding.  Every  part 
of  him  shone  witli  gold  and  diamonds  and  fine  scar 
let.  But  his  face  was  still  sad,  though  very  amiable 
and  gentle.  There  is  a  dignity  and  thoughtfulness 
in  his  manner  which  makes  it  impossible  to  sport 
with  him.  He  looks  as  if  heavy  care  weighed  on  his 
heart.  When  I  spoke  to  him  about  going  to  Madeira, 
he  gave  such  a  deep  sigh,  and  such  a  shadow7  fell  over 
his  brow  as  he  replied,  "Ah,  I  have  too  much  to  do 
here ! "  that  I  felt  quite  oppressed,  and  he  immedi 
ately  bowed  and  turned  away. 

I  must  tell  you  something  about  him  while  he 
is  making  the  circuit  of  the  saloon.  He  is  very 
eager  and  earnest  to  examine  into  everything  him 
self;  and  one  evening  the  Minister  of  Justice  sent 
him  a  paper  to  sign,  and  a  huge  pile  of  documents 


94  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

in  which  was  written  the  whole  matter  in  hand. 
He  was  expected  to  sign  the  paper  without  com 
ment;  but  so  he  had  no  purpose  of  doing.  He  has 
a  wise  way  of  going  to  bed  in  reasonable  season, 
which  is  one  of  the  means  he  uses  to  preserve  his 
admirable,  blooming  health.  But  he  sat  up  all  that 
night,  reading  that  pile  of  papers,  and  making  of 
them  an  admirable,  clear  abstract ;  and  in  the  morn 
ing  he  sent  for  his  ministers  and  told  them  what 
he  had  done,  and  requested  that  the  next  time  any 
papers  were  submitted  to  him,  they  would  be  careful 
to  prepare  an  abstract  for  him  in  good  Portuguese. 
And  one  day  he  went  to  a  foundry  where  they  were 
making  a  huge  mortar.  He  asked  what  it  was  for. 

O  O 

He  was  told  that  it  was  made  to  fit  some  very  large 
balls  that  were  on  hand.  He  remarked :  "  It  is  very 
wrell ;  in  a  country  where  places  are  made  for  men, 
mortars  should  be  made  for  balls."  He  evidently  in 
tends  to  investigate  all  subjects ;  and  if  his  head  is 
wise  and  his  heart  true,  as  the}7  appear  to  be,  he  must 
indeed  "  find  too  much  to  do  here,"  —  for  corruption 
and  abuse  have  become  rife  in  affairs,  and  the  nation  is 
very  poor.  He  has  made  a  reform  in  the  palace,  so 
that  it  may  go  on  at  less  expense,  and  seems  to  have 
a  profound  resolve  and  desire  to  effect  good,  and  to 
see  to  it  with  his  own  eyes.  He  is  very  interesting 
to  me.  I  am  much  more  interested  in  him  than  in 
his  accomplished  father. —  But  by  this  time  he  has 
finished  what  is  a  heavy  task  for  him ;  for  he  does 
not  care  for  the  ladies,  and  it  is  a  terrible  penance  for 


MRS.  BLODGETT'S,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.       95 

him  to  speak  to  them  in  such  crowds.  After  going 
round  the  large  saloon,  he  was  returning  to  his  draw 
ing-room,  and  said  he  should  go  to  bed.  But  his 
minister  reminded  him  that  he  had  forgotten  the 
other  saloon  of  ladies  !  And  so  he  was  obliged  to  go 
back,  alas  for  him !  He  is.  only  eighteen ;  but  he 
is  not  gay,  and  mere  ceremony  is  irksome  to  him, 
because  his  thoughts  are  fixed  on  something  more 
important,  and  he  doubtless  wished  all  those  fair 
dames  had  been  in  Jericho. 

While  he  was  doing  penance  out  of  our  sight, 
his  brother,  His  Serene  Highness  the  Duke  of 
Oporto,  Dom  Luiz,  came  in.  He  is  fifteen,  —  a 
rosy,  happy-looking  youth.  He  was  dressed  in  black, 
with  a  body-coat  like  a  grown  man,  with  a  white 
waistcoat  buttoned  with  diamonds,  and  his  coat 
lined  with  white  satin ;  his  shirt-bosom  and  cravat 
richly  embroidered.  I  was  amused  to  see  him  while 
talking  with  the  Misses  Howard,  daughters  of  the 
newT  English  Minister;  they  are  short  and  plump, 
and,  being  dressed  in  bright  yellow,  pointed  with 
black,  they  reminded  one  of  two  brisk  little  canary- 
birds.  They  had  just  the  air  and  motion  of  birds 
hopping.  The  Prince  stood  gravely  before  them, 
perusing  them  most  stricfrly  from  beneath  his  brows ; 
and  I  thought  he  seemed  secretly  diverted  with  their 
chirping  appearance,  and  very  much  pleased  with 
their  fat,  snowy  necks,  over  the  broad  savannas  of 
which  his  clear  blue  eyes  wandered  constantly  while 
conversing.  It  seems  to  be  the  custom,  the  world 


96  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

over,  that  no  lady  shall  appear  in  the  presence  of 
royalty  with  her  neck  and  arms  covered.  The  ven 
erable  Countess  Anadia,  between  eighty  and  ninety 
years  of  age,  went  to  the  last  soiree  with  low  waist 
and  short  sleeves. 

Once,  when  Dom  Fernando  was  in  the  room,  the 
Duke  of  Baja,  thirteen  years  of  age,  came  in  dressed 
as  a  major,  and  with  the  greatest  animation  went 
up  to  his  father  and  kissed  his  hand.  His  father 
put  his  arm  round  him  and  gave  him  a  little  hug, 
— all  in  a  very  graceful  and  sweet  way.  I  was 
much  impressed  with  the  brilliant  health  of  the 
princes,  from  Dom  Pedro  downwards ;  and  I  have 
been  told  that  the  late  Queen  took  good  care  of  this, 
and  brought  them  up  admirably,  though  she  did 
sonetimes  in  a  pet  box  their  ears  so  hard  as  to  send 
them  spinning  across  the  room.  This,  I  suppose, 
was  only  the  viciousness  of  the  Braganza  blood,  and 
her  goodness  and  wisdom  belonged  to  her  individual 
soul. 

During  the  evening  grave  servants,  in  blue  with 
red  facings,  meandered  about  with  trays  containing 
black  tea,  bonbons,  cake,  spiced  wine  and  water, 
and  ice-creams.  I  took  an  ice  whenever  I  could  get 
a  chance,  so  as  to  keep  myself  cool  and  superior  to 
circumstances. 

When  their  Majesties  had  gone  from  the  saloons, 
we  rose  to  follow.  We  were,  however,  arrested  by  the 
Duke  Marshal ;  he  was  covered  all  over  with  stars, 
orders,  ribbons,  gold  lace,  cords,  epaulettes,  tassels,  and 


MRS.  BLODGETTS,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.       97 

sashes.  He  was  very  cordial,  and  took  Uncle  John's 
hand,  and  finally  embraced  him  .with  one  arm,  pressing 
him  to  his  heart  as  something  precious,  and  saying  to 
Aunt  Sue,  "  We  all  dearly  love  him,  —  from  the  King, 
we  all  love  him."  He  told  her  that  during  her  absence 
he  should  take  him  under  especial  charge,  and  see  him 
self  that  he  was  safe  and  well,  —  "And  if  I  say  so, 
madam e,  I  will  do  it;  for  I  think  it  cannot  be  affirmed 
of  me  that  I  have  yet  broken  my  word."  He  was 
most  affectionate,  and  said  a  thousand  sandades,  which 
means  so  much  that  I  cannot  translate  it  by  one 
word.  It  signifies  tender  remembrances,  loving  re 
gards,  soft  hopes,  precious  assurances,  friendship, 
fondness,  caressing  love,  etc.  Aunt  Sue  told  the 
Duke  that  we  must  have  a  band  of  music  at  Madeira. 
He  replied  that  the  regiment  stationed  there  had 
none,  but  that  he  would  try  to  send  one  that  had 
one  as  soon  as  possible.  Susan  said,  "  I  will  ask  the 
King;"  upon  which  the  all-powerful  Marshal  colored 
up  to  his  white  hair,  and  replied  that  it  lay  with 
himself;  and  Uncle  John  hastened  to  remind  her 
that  in  such  matters  the  Duke  was  the  sole  authority. 
I  think  Dom  Pedro  will  need  all  his  high  head  and 
brow,  so  indicative  of  what  Dr.  Howe  calls  "  thunder 
ing  thinking,"  as  well  as  the  stubborn  Braganza  will,  to 
stem  this  mighty  Commander-in-chief,  so  long  virtual 
sovereign  of  Portugal. 

As  we  conversed,  "the  hall  of  dazzling  light" 
became  deserted  quite,  when  suddenly  the  King 
Piegent  returned,  and  the  Duke  bade  us  farewell. 

VOL.  II.  7 


98  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

But  after  a  few  words  with  Dom  Fernando,  be 
left,  and  the  "  old  King "  followed  us  ;  and  so  we 
stopped  and  had  a  second  interview,  more  informal 
and  very  animated.  I  think  this  prince  reminds 
me  of  Mr.  Tappan.  He  has  the  same  way  of 
throwing  back  his  head  with  clustering  hair,  and 
the  same  earnest  look  in  his  dark  eyes.  But  his  eyes 
are  by  no  means  so  beautiful  and  gazelle-like  as  Mr. 
Tappan's,  nor  does  his  hair  cluster  so  richly.  His 
dark  mustachios  and  beard  also  help  the  resemblance, 
as  well  as  the  buoyancy  of  his  step.  But  that  even 
ing  I  observed  that  his  figure  is  not  particularly  fine 
or  well-proportioned.  I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged,  as  a 
faithful  limner,  to  say  that  his  royal  legs  are  too  long 
for  symmetry,  though  his  head  and  shoulders  are 
spirited  and  elegant. 

Let  me  not  forget  to  tell  you  that  when  the  young 
King  was  leaving  our  great  saloon  to  return  to  his 
drawing-room,  his  father  met  him  in  the  door  and 
embraced  him  with  both  arms,  giving  him  an  approv 
ing,  loving  patting  with  his  right  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  Bravo,  my  son,  you  have  done 
well ! "  The  Baron  Kersler,  the  "old  King's  "  physi 
cian,  who  came  with  him  from  Germany,  says  that  -r 
the  royal  family  are  most  affectionate,  and  now  that 
the  severe  Queen  is  dead,  of  whom  they  were  all 
afraid,  they  enjoy  themselves  very  much.  Not  long 
ago,  the  eldest  Infanta,  Maria,  dressed  herself  as  a 
beggar-girl.  The  officers  of  the  palace  repulsed  her 
quite  roughly  from  the  doors  at  which  she  was  plead- 


MRS.  BLODGETT'S,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.       99 

ing  for  alms,  especially  from  the  King's  cabinet.  She 
went  into  the  garden.  The  guards  asked  her  what 
she  meant  by  intruding  into  those  sacred  places ;  and 
she  said  her  father  was  there.  "  Your  father,  indeed  ! " 
they  replied.  At  last  her  father  came  to  the  gate,  and 
she  begged  of  him.  He  gave  her  an  alms ;  and  just 
as  she  was  turning  from  him,  either  her  air  or  an 
arch  expression  of  her  face  struck  him,  and  he  ex 
claimed,  "  It  is  my  child  ! "  You  perceive  that  they 
seem  to  have  a  merry  time. 

If  the  King  Regent  had  had  a  fancy  to  keep  us  in 
presence  all  night,  we  should  have  been  obliged  to  re 
main  his  humble  servants,  and  be  as  agreeable  as  we 
could  find  it  in  our  wits  to  be;  for  it  is  the  preroga 
tive  of  majesty  to  dismiss  all  lesser  dignities  at  will, 
and  lesser  dignities  can  never  take  leave  of  majesty. 
I  suppose  the  idea  is  that  it  is  not  to  be  dreamed  of 
that  one  can  bask  long  enough  in  the  rays  of  a  royal 
countenance.  But  I  must  confess  that  my  lesser 
dignity  was  weary  even  of  a  king,  and  that  somehow 
I  could  not  find  that  he  was  at  all  different  from  any 
other  man  ;  and  that  I  was  right  glad  when  at  last  he 
suddenly  said,  "  Good-by,"  and  turned  immediately 
towards  his  drawing-room,  thus  amiably  allowing  us 
to  follow  our  noses  out  of  the  room,  instead  of  our 
backs,  like  so  many  crabs.  The  robing-room  and 
staircase  were  full  of  waiting  guests,  and  I  was  re 
joiced  at  last  to  hear  that  the  carriage  of  the  American 
Minister  stopped  the  way. 

I  have  written  you  a  huge  letter.     I  suppose  you 


100  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

think  we  are  in  Madeira  now ;  but  the  floods  have 
delayed  our  steamer.  Within  the  memory  of  man 
there  has  not  been  such  a  deluge  on  the  Peninsula, 
I  wonder  it  is  not  broken  off  the  Continent,  by  dint 
of  soaking,  so  as  to  set  us  afloat  on  the  high  seas.  It 
seems  to  be  crumbling  to  pieces,  and  turning  all  into 
liquid  mud.  The  seeds  are  all  washed  out  of  the 
ground,  and  no  harvest  can  be  looked  for.  All 
theatres  and  places  of  amusement  are  now  closed; 
prayers  besiege  Heaven  for  a  cessation  of  the  rain  all 
night  long  in  the  churches,  and  nightly  processions  of 
priests  walk  the  streets.  Lisbon  is  crowded  with  the 
starving  peasantry  and  fishermen.  Four  hundred  rob 
bers  were  put  in  prison  the  other  day,  who  were  steal 
ing  something  to  keep  them  alive.  The  high  walls 
in  the  city  are  falling  down,  crumbling  under  the 
heavy  soaking  water.  Even  walls  of  houses  fall  out 
wards,  leaving  the  people  exposed  in  their  rooms. 
Drowned  persons  float  down  the  river.  The  other  day 
a  babe  in  a  basket,  like  another  Moses,  was  picked 
up  alive  from  the  water.  There  was  to  be  a  musical 
soiree  at  the  palace  last  week,  at  which  the  great  Thai- 
berg  was  to  perform,  and  the  King  Regent  to  sing ; 
but  it  is  put  off  on  account  of  the  general  distress. 
Our  neighbor,  the  Conselheiro  Baldeira,  says  we  shall 
not  be  obliged  to  go  in  the  carriage  to  the  Tagus  to 
embark  in  the  steamer,  for  the  steamer  will  be  able 
to  call  for  us  at  the  Pateo  de  Geraldes.  What  stormy 
petrels  we  seem  to  be  !  We  brought  in  our  pockets 
—  or  under  our  wings  —  the  worst  weather  England 


MRS.  DLODGETT'S,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.    101 

had  known,  and  we  bid  fair  (or  foul)  to  drown  the 
Peninsula  by  our  presence  here.  It  is  time  we  were 
thrown  overboard,  and  so  we  shall  be  next  week ; 
and  I  hope  Madeira  will  not  suffer  in  consequence 
of  our  creeping  ashore  upon  it.  Farewell,  clearest 
boy.  Give  our  love  to  kind  Mrs.  Blodgett,  Miss 
Williams,  and  Miss  Maria,  and  be  as  good  and  happy 
as  you  can. 

YOUR  LOVING  MAMMA. 

A  thousand  sandades  to  you  and  blessed  papa. 

—  There  are  two  letters  from  Hawthorne  to  his 
sister  Elizabeth,  and  another  to  his  daughter  Una, 
which  may  come  in  here. 

LIVERPOOL,  Dec.  6,  1855. 

DEAR  E.,  —  I  was  glad  to  see  your  handwriting 
again  in  a  letter  to  Una,  and  I  don't  think  it  would 
do  you  any  harm  to  write  oftener.  I  have  received 
letters  from  Lisbon  this  morning.  Sophia  continues 
to  receive  benefit  from  the  climate,  and  I  see  no  rea 
son  to  doubt  that  it  will  quite  restore  her.  She  is 
very  pleasantly  situated,  and  sees  the  King  and  all 
the  grandees  of  the  realm. 

I  am  getting  tired  of  Liverpool,  though  not  of  Eng 
land.  It  is  not  probable  (though  you  need  not  men 
tion  this)  that  I  shall  remain  here  a  great  many 
months  longer ;  for  the  consulate  is  not  so  profitable 
as  it  was,  though  it  still  yields  a  good  income.  But 
I  have  now  got  enough  to  live  upon  at  home,  with 
comfortable  economy,  and  may  besides  reckon  upon 


102  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

a  considerable  income  from  literature ;  so  that  it  does 
not  seem  worth  while  to  waste  a  great  deal  more 
time  in  this  consular  drudgery.  I  mean,  however,  to 
retain  the  office  till  next  summer  or  autumn,  and 
spend  a  good  deal  of  the  intervening  time  in  travel 
ling  about  England  and  Scotland.  Then  I  propose 
two  years  on  the  Continent,  after  which  there  will 
be  nothing  for  it  but  to  return  to  America, — which 
does  not  look  like  a  very  agreeable  prospect  from 
this  side  of  the  water.  I  send  some  of  the  latest 
"  Athenaeums,"  and  am 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

NATH.  HAWTHORNE. 

LIVERPOOL,  Feb.  16,  1856. 

DEAR  E.,  —  I  send  you  some  "  Athenaeums,"  etc. 
Sophia  and  the  two  children  have  gone  from  Lis 
bon  to  Madeira,  with  Mr.  O'Sullivan's  family.  Her 
health  has  very  much  improved,  and  I  do  not  doubt 
that  she  will  return  to  England  perfectly  restored,  on 
the  approach  of  summer.  Julian  is  perfectly  well. 
There  is  a  good  deal  of  talk  of  war  between  England 
and  the  United  States;  but  I  hardly  think  it  will 
come  to  that. 

There  is  no  possibility  of  writing  to  such  an  im 
possible  correspondent  as  you  are. 

Yours  affectionately,  1ST.  H. 

LIVERPOOL,  March  19,  1856. 

MY  '  DEAREST  UNA,  —  In  answer  to  your  criss 
crossed  note,  I  write  you  a  very  few  words,  and  thank 


MRS.  BLODGETT'S,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.    103 

you  very  mucli  for  your  kind  and  agreeable  corre 
spondence.  You  write  very  nice  letters,  and  Julian 
and  I  are  always  greatly  interested  in  them.  He 
cannot  puzzle  out  the  meaning  of  them  by  himself, 
and  I  always  have  the  pleasure  of  reading  them  over 
at  least  twice,  —  first  to  myself  and  afterwards  to 
him.  And  when  your  letters  contain  nothing  pri 
vate,  I  likewise  read  them  to  Mrs.  Blodgett  and  Miss 
Williams.  Julian  has  lately  got  acquainted  with  a 
gentleman  named  Dr.  Archer,  and  with  some  nice 
little  daughters  of  his.  Dr.  Archer  is  very  fond  of 
natural  history,  and  he  has  given  Julian  a  good  many 
shells,  and  a  little  book  describing  them;  so  that 
Julian  is  growing  more  learned  than  ever  about 
shells.  He  means  to  spend  all  his  money  in  pur 
chasing  them ;  and  he  has  quite  as  much  money  as 
he  ought,  for  I  give  him  all  the  pence  and  half-pence 
that  I  get  at  the  Consulate.  Dr.  Archer  also  shows 
him  things  through  the  microscope,  and,  among  other 
things,  the  wing  of  a  fly,  which  looked  as  big  as  the 
wing  of  a  goose. 

I  have  not  yet  been  to  hear  Mr.  Channing  preach ; 
but,  to  make  amends,  I  send  Julian  every  Sunday. 
There  is  always  some  lady  or  other  who  is  glad  to 
take  charge  of  him  and  put  herself  under  his  protec 
tion.  But,  last  Sunday,  there  happened  to  be  no  lady 
going  to  Mr.  Channing's ;  so,  rather  than  go  to  Mrs. 
Blodgett's  church,  Julian  chose  to  go  to  our  chapel  all 
by  himself.  There  he  saw  Dr.  Archer,  who  invited 
him  to  dinner  and  to  spend  the  day,  and  sent  one  of 


104  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

his  daughters  to  ask  my  permission.  Julian  is  very 
fond  of  society,  arid  loses  no  opportunity  of  going 
abroad  whenever  he  is  asked.  Sometimes  Mrs.  War 
ren  asks  him  to  her  house ;  and  I  think  he  likes 
to  go  there  better  than  anywhere  else,  for  the  sake 
of  dancing  with  Mary.  I  often  tell  him  that  he  will 
have  to  earn  his  living  as  a  dancing-master ;  but  he 
seems  to  think  that  that  profession  would  be  beneath 
the  dignity  of  a  Consul's  son. 

Tell  Eosebud  that  I  love  her  very  much,  and  that 
I  wrote  her  a  letter  a  little  while  ago,  and  sent  it  to 
Uncle  John,  to  be  sent  to  her.  She  is  the  best  little 
girl  in  the  world,  is  she  not  ?  Does  she  ever  get  out 
of  humor  ?  Tell  her  that  I  wish  very  much  to  know 
whether  she  always  behaves  prettily,  as  a  young  lady 
ought.  Is  she  kind  to  Nurse  ? 

I  am  going  to  dine  at  Sandheys  this  evening,  and 
I  suppose  I  shall  see  Annie  Bright. 

YOUR  LOVING  FATHER. 

— It  was  in  February  of  the  New  Year  (1856)  that 
Hawthorne  made  the  visit  to  the  workhouse  which 
is  recorded  in  his  journal,  and  where  the  incident  of 
the  child's  attaching  itself  to  him  occurred,  that  made 
so  deep  an  impression  on  him.  He  was  accompanied 
by  Mr.  Mansfield  and  Mrs.  Heywood.  In  relation 
to  the  child,  lie  says  :  "  If  it  were  within  the  limits  of 
possibility,  —  if  I  could  ever  have  done  such  wicked 
ness  as  could  have  produced  this  child,  —  I  should 
have  certainly  set  down  its  affection  to  the  score 


MRS.  BLODGETT'S,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.    105 

of  blood-recognition ;  and  I  cannot  conceive  of  any 
greater  remorse  than  a  parent  must  feel  if  he  could 
see  such  a  result  of  his  illegitimate  embraces.  I 
wish  I  had  not  touched  the  imp;  and  yet  I  never 
should  have  forgiven  myself  if  I  had  repelled  its 
advances." 

Hawthorne's  spirits  were  very  much  depressed  at 
this  period ;  his  loneliness  weighed  upon  him,  and  he 
was  in  continual  dread,  as  he  says,  "  of  ill-news  from 
Lisbon  that  I  may  perhaps  hear,  —  of  black-sealed 
letters,  or  some  such  horrors."  But  it  happened,  for 
tunately  no  doubt,  that  he  was  more  than  usually 
involved  in  various  forms  of  social  activity.  He 
lunched  on  board  the  "  Princeton ; "  he  visited  the 
Mersey  Iron  Foundry,  and  was  delighted  with  the 
great  vat  full  of  boiling  iron;  he  called  on  Mr.  Dallas, 
the  new  ambassador,  who  "had  risen  in  life  by  the 
lack  of  two  powerful  qualities  and  by  a  certain  tact," 
and  who  "  must  be  pronounced  a  humbug,  yet  almost 
or  quite  an  innocent  one."  He  went  to  London, 
stopping  over  night  at  Mr.  Bowman's,  in  St.  James 
Place ;  and  called  on  Mr.  Bennoch,  at  the  latter' s  office, 
where  they  talked  of  the  war,  and  of  Jerdan,  whom 
Mr.  Bennoch  characterized  as  "  a  very  disreputable  old 
fellow,  who  had  spent  all  his  life  in  dissipation,  and 
has  not  left  it  off  even  now,  in  his  old  age.  I  do  not 
see,"  adds  Hawthorne,  "how  such  a  man  has  attained 
vogue  in  society,  as  he  certainly  has ;  for  he  had  no 
remarkable  gifts,  more  than  scores  of  other  literary 
men,  and  his  manners  had,  to  my  taste,  no  charm. 


106  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

Yet  he  had  contrived  to  live  amongst  and  upon  what 
ever  is  exquisite  in  society  and  in  festivity."  He 
and  Bennoch  visited  Hampton  Court,  and  dined  at  the 
"  Star  and  Garter "  on  Eichmond  Hill ;  and  the  next 
day,  still  under  Mr.  Bennoch's  guidance,  he  investi 
gated  Barber-Surgeon's  Hall,  and  gives  a  minute  de 
scription  of  the  "  Loving-cups  "  that  he  saw  there, 
and  of  the  ceremony  in  using  them  ;  and  afterwards 
they  took  the  rail  to  Greenwich,  and  mingled  in  the 
"  Fair."  The  following  evening  he  dined  with  Mr. 
Bennoch,  meeting  Mrs.  Newton  Crosland,  who  praised 
"  The  Scarlet  Letter."  "  I  would  gladly  have  re 
sponded  by  praising  her  own  works,"  he  remarks ; 
"  but  although  she  sent  me  one  of  them,  three  or 
four  years  ago,  I  had  quite  forgotten  its  subject,  and 
so  could  not  say  anything  greatly  to  the  purpose. 
Neither  would  it  have  been  easy,  at  any  rate,  to  re 
spond  in  due  measure;  for  Mrs.  Crosland  was  unusu 
ally  lavish  in  her  admiration,  preferring  poor  me  to  all 
the  novelists  of  this  age,  or,  I  believe,  any  other ;  and 
she  and  Mr.  Bennoch  discussed,  right  across  me,  the 
uses  to  which  I  had  better  put  my  marvellous  genius, 
as  respects  the  mode  of  working  up  my  English  expe 
riences  !  —  I  suppose  this  may  be  the  tone  of  London 
literary  society.  But  I  really  do  not  think  that  I 
like  to  be  praised,  vivd  voce  ;  at  least,  I  am  glad  when 
it  is  said  and  done  with,  though  I  will  not  say  that 
my  heart  does  not  expand  a  little  towards  those  who 
rightly  appreciate  my  books.  But  I  suspect  that  I 
am  of  somewhat  sterner  stuff  than  many  romancers, 


MRS.  BLODGETTS,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.    107 

and  tougher  of  fibre;  and  the  dark  seclusion — the 
atmosphere  without  any  oxygen  of  sympathy  —  in 
which  I  spent  all  the  years  of  my  youthful  manhood, 
have  enabled  me  to  do  almost  as  well  without  as 
with  it." 

Another  day  he  strolled  through  the  National  Gal 
lery,  and  remarks  that  his  art  culture  had  already 
advanced,  so  far  that  he  was  able  to  prefer  some 
pictures  to  others ;  and  he  went  to  the  British  Mu 
seum,  and  wished,  in  his  weariness,  that  the  Elgin 
Marbles  and  the  Frieze  of  the  Parthenon  were  all 
burnt  into  lime  !  Then  he  got  lost  in  the  vicinity 
of  Holborn,  and  "  kept  returning,  in  the  strangest 
way,  to  the  same  point  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  ;  and 
I  must  say  that  I  wished  the  Devil  had  London  and 
them  that  built  it,  from  King  Lud's  time  down 
wards  ! "  But  he  recovered  sufficiently  to  go  and  see 
Kean  play  "  Louis  XL"  the  same  evening,  and  liked 
him  well.  Mr.  Bennoch  now  seized  upon  him  once 
more,  and  whirled  him  off  to  Aldershott,  where  they 
sat  down  to  a  "  splendid  dinner "  with  the  officers 
of  an  Irish  regiment,  —  or,  rather,  the  Irish  officers 
of  a  regiment,  —  whom  Hawthorne  found  capital 
company.  Next  morning  they  witnessed  a  sham- 
fight,  and  saw  fifteen  thousand  men  pass  in  review 
before  the  Duke  of  Cambridge,  who  lifted  his  hat  as 
each  regiment  went  by.  "  As  he  did  so,  there  ensued 
a  singular  and  half-ludicrous  transformation.  For 
the  poor  Duke  had  suffered  a  great  deal  in  his  Cri 
mean  warfare,  and  has  grown  bald  and  gray  in  conse- 


108  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

quence,  although  his  beard  and  whiskers  are  still 
of  a  rich  brown ;  so  that,  while  his  hat  remained  on 
his  head,  you  saw  a  florid  gentleman  in  his  very 
prime,  fringed  about  with  the  brown  beard  of  lusty 
manhood,  but  whenever  the  hat  was  lifted,  behold  ! 
an  aged  head,  gray,  bald,  forlorn  !  It  was  the  battle 
of  Inkermann  that  did  this  mischief;  for  the  Duke 
had  been  in  a  terrible  excitement  then,  and,  besides, 
Lord  Raglan  had  treated  him  very  severely  for  some 
of  his  conduct.  The  Duke  had  an  awfully  quick 
temper,  which  breaks  out  whenever  he  is  in  com 
mand,  and  he  blows  up  the  officers  right  and  left 
whenever  anything  happens  not  to  suit  him." 

From  Aldershott  the  two  friends  went,  by  previous 
invitation,  to  visit  Mr.  Martin  Farquhar  Tupper,  the 
famous  poet  of  the  " Proverbial  Philosophy;"  and  here 
follows  an  entertaining  record  of  their  experiences 
on  that  occasion. 

APRIL  2,  1856. 

We  reached  Albany  somewhere  about  ten  o'clock, 
and  were  met  by  a  boy  of  twelve  years,  a  son  of  Mr. 
Tupper,  who  had  sent  him  to  escort  us.  He  was  a 
forward,  talkative,  intelligent  lad,  arid  kept  chattering 
profusely  with  Bennoch  (whom  he  already  knew). 
As  we  entered  Albany,  the  boy  exclaimed  that  there 
was  his  father.  "Yes,"  said  Bennoch,  " as  large  as 
life ! "  "  As  small  as  life,  you  mean,"  said  the  boy  ; 
and,  indeed,  Mr.  Martin  Farquhar  Tupper's  size  is 
best  expressed  so.  He  soon  met  us,  and  extended 
his  arms  with  an  affectionate  greeting  to  Bennoch ; 


MRS.  DLODGETTS,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.     109 

and  then,  addressing  me,  "Oh,  great  Scarlet  Let 
ter!"  lie  cried.  I  did  not  know  what  the  Devil  to 
say,  unless  it  were  "  Oh,  wondrous  Man  of  Proverbs  ! " 
or  "  Oh,  wiser  than  Solomon ! "  and  as  I  was  afraid 
to  say  either  of  these,  I  rather  think  I  held  my 
tongue.  I  felt  in  an  instant  that  Mr.  Tupper  was  a 
good  soul,  but  a  fussy  little  man,  of  a  kind  that 
always  takes  one  entirely  aback.  He  is  a  small  man, 
with  wonderfully  short  legs,  fat  (at  least  very  round), 
and  walks  with  a  kind  of  waddle,  not  so  much  from 
corpulence  of  body  as  from  brevity  of  leg.  His  hair 
is  curly,  and  of  an  iron-gray  hue  ;  his  features  are 
good,  even  handsome,  and  his  complexion  very  red. 
A  person  for  whom  I  immediately  felt  a  kindness, 
and  instinctively  knew  to  be  a  bore.  He  took  me 
by  the  arm  with  vast  cordiality,  and  led  me  towards 
his  home ;  and  before  we  reached  the  gate,  if  I  mis 
take  not,  he  had  asked  me  whom  I  meant  by  Zeno- 
bia  in  the  "  Blithedale  Romance/1  and  whether  I  had 
drawn  my  own  character  in  Miles  Coverdale,  and 
whether  there  really  was  a  tombstone  in  Boston  with 
the  letter  A  upon  it! — very  posing  queries,  all  of  them. 
Tupper's  house  is  a  very  delightful  one,  standing  in 
the  centre  of  the  village,  yet  secluded  from  it  by  its 
own  grounds,  and  encompassed  by  a  wall.  He  says 
it  has  seven  gables,  and  led  me  round  it  in  order  to 
count  them  ;  but  I  think  we  fairly  made  out  eight 
or  nine.  It  is  a  house  of  some  antiquity,  and  its 
gables  make  it  very  picturesque  in  a  quiet  way  ;  and 
Tupper,  as  his  family  increased,  has  made  additions 


110  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

which  are  in  good  keeping  with  the  original  structure. 
He  inherited  it  from  an  uncle.  Mrs.  Tapper  —  a  plain, 
pleasant,  cordial,  lady -like  person  — was  now  standing 
at  the  door  with  some  of  her  children,  and  gave  us 
a  warm  and  kind  welcome ;  and  we  entered  the  hall, 
which  had  old  cabinets  and  pictures  in  it,  —  century- 
old  portraits,  which  Tupper  said  he  called  ancestral, 
though  really  they  were  not  so.  The  family  had 
been  waiting  breakfast  for  us ;  so,  though  Bennoch 
and  I  had  eaten  two  chops  apiece  at  the  camp,  we  all 
sat  down  to  table,  seven  children  inclusive,  and  I 
made  another  pretty  fair  meal.  Tapper's  three  eldest 
children  are  girls,  from  eighteen  downwards ;  and 
their  cheeks  were  as  red  as  roses,  and  they  seemed 
to  be  nice,  affectionate,  well-behaved  young  people. 
Mr.  Tupper  has  chiefly  educated  them  himself,  and 
to  such  good  purpose  that  one  of  them  already  writes 
for  the  magazines.  Tupper  is  really  a  good  man, 
most  domestic,  most  affectionate,  most  fussy  ;  for  it 
appeared  as  if  he  could  hardly  sit  down,  and  even 
if  he  were  sitting  he  still  had  the  effect  of  bustling 
about.  He  has  no  dignity  of  character,  no  concep 
tion  of  what  it  is,  nor  perception  of  his  deficiency. 
His  son  has  an  instinctive  sense  of  this,  and  presumes 
upon  it,  and  Tupper  continually  finds  it  necessary 
to  repress  him.  "  Martin,  do  not  talk  so  much  ! " 
he  cries,  —  for  the  boy  really  bubbles  without  a  mo 
ment's  intermission  ;  "  Martin,  your  father  was  born 
a  day  or  two  before  you  were ! "  and  a  thousand  such 
half-pettish,  half-kindly  admonitions,  none  of  which 


MRS.  BLODGETT'S,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.    Ill 

have  the  slightest  effect.     The  girls,  however,  seem 
to  respect  him  and  love  him. 

In  the  dining-room  are  six  fine  lithographic  por 
traits  of  the  Queen's  children,  as  large  as  life,  and  all 
taken  at  the  same  age,  so  that  they  would  appear  to 
have  been  littered  at  one  birth,  like  kittens.  They 
were  presented  by  her  Majesty,  who  is  a  great  ad 
mirer  of  the  "  Proverbial  Philosophy,"  and  gives  it 
to  each  of  her  children  as  they  arrive  at  a  proper  age 
to  comprehend  the  depths  of  its  wisdom.  Tupper 
is  the  man  of  all  the  world  to  be  made  supremely 
happy  by  such  appreciation  as  this  ;  for  he  is  the 
vainest  little  man  of  all  little  men,  and  his  vanity 
continually  effervesces  out  of  him  as  naturally  as 
ginger-beer  froths.  Yet  it  is  the  least  incommodious 
vanity  I  ever  witnessed ;  he  does  not  insist  upon 
your  expressing  admiration  ;  he  does  not  even  seem 
to  wish  it,  nor  hardly  to  know  or  care  whether  you 
admire  him  or  not.  He  is  so  entirely  satisfied  with 
himself  that  he  takes  the  admiration  of  all  the  world 
for  granted,  —  the  recognition  of  his  supreme  merit 
being  inevitable.  I  liked  him,  and  laughed  in  my 
sleeve  at  him,  and  was  utterly  weary  of  him ;  for, 
certainly,  he  is  the  ass  of  asses.  Not  but  what  lie 
says  sensible  things,  and  even  humorous  ones  ;  not 
but  what  he  is  a  writer  of  strength  and  power,  —  for 
surely  "The  Crock  of  Gold"  is  a  very  powerful  tale, — - 
but,  if  it  were  not  irreverent,  I  should  say  that  his 
Creator,  when  He  made  Tupper,  intended  to  show 
how  easily  He  could  turn  a  gifted,  upright,  warm- 


112  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

hearted,  and  in  many  ways  respectable  person  into 
a  fool  and  laughing-stock  even  for  persons  much 
inferior  to  himself. 

After  breakfast  we  walked  out  to  see  a  hunting- 
meet.  The  country  is  beautiful,  swelling  in  long, 
high  undulations,  from  the  summit  of  one  of  which 
the  diameter  of  the  prospect  is  one  hundred  miles. 
There  is  a  legend  of  saints  connected  with  three 
of  these  Surrey  hills,  but  I  have  forgotten  it.  On 
our  way  we  saw  here  and  there  a  red-coated  horse 
man,  hastening  to  the  rendezvous.  We  heard  now 
and  then  the  sound  of  a  horn  and  the  voice  of  a 
huntsman  ;  and  by  and  by  appeared  the  pack,  nosing 
along  the  ground  and  scenting  into  the  underbrush 
of  furze  to  discover  if  any  fox  were  there.  The  hunt 
followed  (perhaps  a  score  of  huntsmen,  some  of  them 
in  red  coats,  and  two  or  three  ladies  amongst  them). 
Before  we  left  the  hill-top  Tupper  showed  us  some 
yew-trees  of  unknown  antiquity,  Druidical  perhaps ; 
their  trunks  were  of  immense  size,  upwards  of  twenty 
feet  in  girth.  On  our  way  home  we  passed  through 
Albany  Park,  the  seat  of  Mr.  Drummond;  within  the 
park,  and  at  no  great  distance  from  each  other,  stood 
two  churches,  a  new  one  and  an  ancient,  venerable 
one.  The  interior  of  the  new  church,  which  belongs 
to  the  Irvingites,  is  of  Roman  Catholic  aspect,  but 
very  pleasant  and  soothing,  with  its  stained  windows, 
lamp,  and  holy  symbols.  The  old  church,  though 
no  longer  used,  is  in  excellent  repair ;  and,  gray  and 
time-worn  though  it  is,  it  might  have  answered  its 


MBS.  BLODGETTS,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.    113 

original  purpose  for  centuries  longer.  Mr.  Drum- 
mond's  house  is  a  modern  structure,  but  in  the 
Elizabethan  style,  and  looking  antique  enough  to  be 
in  keeping  with  the  rest  of  the  scene. 

The  Tupper  burial-place  for  generations  past  was 
here  ;  and  the  graves  of  three  of  his  children  were 
covered  with  a  garden  blooming  with  flowers,  and 
evidently  constantly  and  carefully  cultivated  and 
weeded.  Tupper  looked  earnestly  at  it,  and'  was 
quiet  for  a  moment;  and  seemed  pleased  to  see  the 
flowers  growing  so  finely,  and  said,  "  Ah,  we  must 
tell  mamma  of  this."  Then  we  looked  into  the 
church  window,  and  saw  the  monument  of  Mr.  Drum' 
mond's  three  sons,  —  all  the  male  posterity  the  rich 
man  had.  Tupper  told  us  a  story  on  this  subject 
which  might  easily  enough  be  worked  up  into  a  dark, 
impressive  legend.  Mr.  Drummond  had  intended  to 
pull  down  the  old  church,  and  level  the  stones  in  the 
graveyard.  He  was  vehemently  opposed,  especially 
by  Tupper,  who  said  that  if  he  persisted  in  his  pur 
pose  of  desecration,  he  might  suffer  the  curse  of 
Joshua  on  whomsoever  should  rebuild  Jericho, — 
that  his  first-born  and  youngest  sons  should  perish. 
The  man  holding  to  his  purpose,  all  his  three  sons 
did  die,  one  after  another ;  and  the  bells  of  the  old 
church,  which  he  had  transferred  to  the  new  steeple, 
tolled  the  funeral  knell  of  his  last  son,  who  had  died 
just  as  they  were  about  to  celebrate  his  coming  of 
age.  They  had  all  been  healthy  and  strong  before. 
The  old  church  was  left  untouched,  and  became  the 

VOL.  II.  8 


114  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

mausoleum  of  his  children.  It  is  queer  to  think  of 
little  Tapper  being  the  prophet  of  such  a  doom  as 
this ! 

Beaching  Tupper's  house,  he  took  us  up  into  his 
study,  which  is  a  large  room,  with  plenty  of  hooks, 
a  great  many  of  which  are  editions  of  his  own  be 
loved  works.  The  most  remarkable  object  is  a  beau 
tiful  tinarble  figure  of  a  child,  asleep  on  a  cushion ; 
a  little  girl  two  or  three  years  old,  very  delicately 
sculptured,  enjoying  a  sweet  repose.  It  is  the  statue 
of  his  dead  child,  whose  grave  we  had  seen  in  the  old 
churchyard.  Tupper  looked  at  it  with  evident  de 
light,  as  he  might  have  done  at  his  child  alive;  and 
it  almost  seemed  as  if,  so  far  as  his  feelings  were  con 
cerned,  it  were  the  real  presence  of  his  living  child. 
He  spoke  about  it  without  any  reserve,  and  showed 
me  the  different  points  of  view;  but  for  my  part, 
though  it  was  a  very  sweet  little  creature,  I  could 
not  say  much  of  it,  feeling  that  a  stranger  tongue  has 
no  right  to  infringe  upon  the  delicacy  and  sanctity 
of  such  a  subject.  But  Tupper  probably  felt  nothing 
of  the  kind,  and  the  presence  of  the  little  marble  girl 
seemed  to  soothe  and  comfort  him,  and  he  is  just  as 
merry,  when  the  mood  serves,  as  if  she  was  not  there. 
Besides  the  tender  marble,  he  showed  me  some  cer 
tificates  of  honorary  membership  of  certain  American 
literary  societies,  glazed  and  framed  and  hanging 
against  the  wall.  I  never  heard  before  of  any  of  the 
learned  bodies.  Likewise  he  opened  one  of  the  book 
cases,  and  showed  it  packed  quite  full  of  the  Ameri- 


MRS.  DLODGETTS,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.    115 

can  editions  of  his  works,  all  splendidly  bound  and 
gilt, — talking  with  evidently  intense  satisfaction  of 
his  American  fame. 

We  dined  early,  the  whole  brood  of  children  sit 
ting  down  to  table  with  us,  and  the  patriarchal  Tup- 
per  chatting  away  .during  the  meal.  A  very  small 
man  seems  rather  out  of  place  at  the  head  of  a  large 
family ;  the  dignity  of  the  situation  is  not  in  keeping 
with  his  figure  and  demonstrations.  We  had  quite 
a  good  plain  dinner,  in  such  abundance  as  the  large 
appetites  of  seven  small  people  rendered  necessary. 
I  sat  next  to  Mrs.  Tupper,  and,  talking  with  her 
about  her  home  and  her  husband,  she  observed  that 
they  two  had  played  together  on  the  spot,  and  gath 
ered  the  nuts  beneath  the  trees,  in  earliest  childhood ; 
"  for  we  were  cousins,"  she  said.  ...  It  is  wonderful 
what  a  sadness  this  one  great  misery  threw  over  my 
whole  contemplation  of  Tapper's  life  and  character. 
I  had  already  made  a  remark  to  him  about  the  means 
of  happiness  he  had  around  him,  and  had  noticed, 
with  some  surprise,  that  he  did  not  respond  with  any 
heartiness.  There  was,  for  that  only  time,  a  marked 
reserve  in  his  manner,  a  something  repining  in  his 
tone.  .  .  .  After  dinner  we  set  out  for  Wooton,  Tup 
per  bestriding  a  horse.  He  breeds  his  own  horses, 
and  is  very  proud  of  them,  though  they  are  by  no 
means  remarkably  good.  One  very  commonplace 
pony  he  calls  "  Wonder,"  and  has  other  fine  names 
for  all  the  rest.  He  rides  pretty  well ;  but  his  wife 
kept  calling  out  to  him  to  be  careful,  to  go  slowly 


116  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

down  steep  hills,  and  divers  other  affectionate  admo 
nitions,  —  for  she  is  a  truly  good  woman,  and  admires 
her  husband  just  as  much  as  if  he  were  bigger  and 
wiser.  They  are  very  kind  people,  all  of  them,  and 
I  heartily  wish  them  well. 

—  Recommencing  their  travels,  the  pilgrims  next 
went,  via  Tunbridge  Wells,  to  Battle  Abbey ;  the  in 
terior  of  which,  Hawthorne  says,  "of  all  domestic 
things  that  I  have  seen  in  England,  satisfied  me 
most."  From  there  they  drove  to  Hastings,  and 
called  on  Theodore  Martin  and  his  wife  (nde  Helen 
Faucit),  and,  having  lunched  there,  took  the  train 
back  to  London.  But  the  gayeties  were  not  yet  over; 
for,  the  next  day,  Hawthorne  was  taken  to  dine  at 
the  Milton  Club,  where  he  met  several  distinguished 
persons,  among  them  Mr.  Tupper,  Dr.  Mackay,  Torn 
Taylor,  William  Howitt,  and  Mr.  Sidney  Carter  Hall, 
—  concerning  which  gentleman  Hawthorne  appears 
to  have  suffered  considerable  mental  disquietude.  He 
says :  — 

".  .  .While  I  was  waiting  for  Bennoch  at  the 
Milton  Club,  a  tall,  fine-looking  gentleman  with  white 
hair  entered,  and  was  presently  introduced  to  me  by 
Mr.  Tupper.  Mr.  S.  C.  Hall  —  for  it  was  no  less  a 
personage  —  immediately  began,  in  a  tone  audible  to 
the  whole  room,  to  express  his  admiration  for  me  as 
'  the  first  —  yes,  it  was  really  so  —  the  very  first 
writer  of  the  age.'  He  said  that  he  had  written  fifty 
thousand  (I  think  that  was  the  number)  criticisms 


MRS.  BLODGETT'S,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.    117 

of  books,  but  that,  in  all  his  vocation  as  a  critic,  he 
had  never  felt  such  delight  as  in  recording  his  judg 
ment  of  my  merits.  In  short,  I  cannot  possibly  over 
state  what  he  said,  and,  for  very  shame,  prefer  not  to 
record  it  any  further ;  and  it  was  all  said  in  the  most 
fluent,  irrepressible,  and  yet  quiet  way,  with  a  volubil 
ity  of  fine  phrases,  and  with  a  calm  benignity  of  face. 
I  have  never  met  so  smooth  an  Englishman  as  Mr.  S. 
C.  Hall.  He  likewise  presented  me  with  a  flower  — 
a  perfectly  beautiful  camellia  —  which  his  wife  had 
sent  me ;  for,  it  seems,  her  admiration  is  of  the  same 
intensity  as  her  husband's.  Good  Heavens !  what  is 
a  man  to.  do  in  a  case  like  this  ?  By  and  by  Ben- 
noch  entered,  and,  taking  me  by  the  arm,  led  the  way 
to  the  dining-room.  I  besought  him  most  earnestly 
to  give  me  any  other  neighbor  rather  than  Mr.  S.  C. 
Hall,  for  that  I  could  not  stand  his  incense.  He  put 
Mr.  Charles  Mackay  (author  of  '  The  Good  Time 
Coming ')  between  me  and  Mr.  Hall ;  notwithstand 
ing  which  the  latter  besmeared  me  with  a  great  deal 
more  butter  and  treacle  before  the  dinner  was  over. 
God  forbid  that  I  should  be  other  than  grateful  for 
true  appreciation  ;  but  was  this  true  ?  Did  he  speak 
because  the  fulness  of  his  heart  compelled  him  ? 
Could  he  have  said  less  if  he  had  tried  to  restrain 
himself?  for,  if  he  could,  he  was  utterly  unpardon 
able  for  saying  what  he  did.  I  verily  believe  that  he 
had  it  all  on  his  tongue  and  nowhere  else.  I  ought 
to  say  that  Bennoch  strenuously  affirms  that  he  is  a 
good  and  honest  man,  though  with  some  absurdities 


118  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

of  manner ;  and  he  says  that  he  has  positively  known 
both  Hall  and  his  wife  to  make  greater  personal  sac 
rifices  for  the  welfare  of  art  and  literature  than  he 
has  known  any  other  persons  to  make.  Douglas  Jer- 
rold,  on  the  other  hand,  and  Dr.  Mackay  think  him  an 
arrant  humbug  ;  and  I  believe  there  is  no  doubt  of  his 
having  been  -the  original  of  Dickens' s  Mr.  Pecksniff." 

On  rising  from  the  dinner-table  at  eleven  o'clock, 
Mr.  Dallas  —  "  lest  I  should  starve  before  morning  " 
—  took  him  to  supper  at  his  house  in  Park  Lane, 
where  he  was  presented  to  Mrs.  Dallas,  formerly  Miss 
Glyn.  "  Our  party  broke  up  soon  after  midnight, 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dallas  made  me  promise  to  come 
again  on  Saturday  to  meet  Mr.  Charles  Pieade." 
Meanwhile,  on  the  Thursday,  he  dined  with  Dr. 
Mackay  at  the  Eeform  Club,  meeting  Douglas  Jer- 
rold  ;  and  it  was  here  that  the  little  misunderstand 
ing  with  the  latter  occurred,  which  was  afterwards  so 
amicably  made  up.  Friday  was -a  day  of  rest;  but 
on  Saturday  the  supper-party  at  Mr.  Dallas's  came 
off.  Hawthorne  does  not  seem  to  have  been  partic 
ularly  impressed  by  Charles  Eeade  ;  though  I  have 
heard  him,  since  then,  express  great  liking  for 
some  of  his  books,  and  I  remember  his  reading 
"Griffith  Gaunt"  with  much  interest  when  it  was 
appearing  serially  in  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly."  "  A 
tall  man,"  he  calls  him,  "more  than  thirty,  fair- 
haired,  in  good  flesh,  and  not  of  especially  intellect 
ual  aspect,  but  of  agreeable  talk  and  demeanor." 

"  Miss  Glyn,"  he   proceeds, "  was   not  there  when 


MRS.  DLODGETT'S,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.    119 

I  arrived,  but  soon  came  in,  hot  and  wearied,  from 
the  stage ;  and  when  she  shook  hands  with  me,  her 
own  was  moist,  and  gave  me  a  strong  idea  of  how 
exhausting  stage  exertions  are.  She  is  not  pretty  at 
all,  either  in  face  or  figure,  being  broad  and  full,  with 
a  short  neck ;  but  I  can  conceive  that  she  may  have 
a  great  deal  of  power  in  her  acting.  She  is  more 
haunted  by  the  trick,  tone,  and  glance  of  the  actress, 
than  either  of  the  other  distinguished  ladies  whom  I 
have  met.  I  should  say  that  she  still  retains  a  native 
goodness  and  simplicity.  I  sat  next  her  at  supper ; 
and  she  alluded  to  the  statement  she  had  made  to  me 
a  few  evenings  ago,  that  she  had  read  '  The  House  of 
Seven  Gables'  thirteen  years  since,  and  inquired  if 
she  had  not  made  a  little  mistake.  I  said  that  she 
had,  but  that  I  felt  mu^ch  flattered  by  it,  because  it 
could  only  have  arisen  from  the  book  having  made 
itself  so  much  a  part  of  the  permanent  furniture  of  her 
mind  that  she  could  not  tell  when  she  first  became 
acquainted  with  it.  She  laughed,  and  seemed  a  little 
confused,  as  well  she  might," 

On  the  6th  of  April  this  indefatigable  man  of 
society  went  with  Bennoch  and  Mackay  to  Woking, 
to  dine  and  spend  the  evening.  Mrs.  Hall  was  "a 
dame  of  ripe  age,  midway  beyond  fifty,  but  still  an 
agreeable  object  to  look  at,  and  must  once  have  pos 
sessed  beauty.  Her  husband  loves  beautiful  things, 
and  chose  his  wife,  no  doubt,  on  the  same  principle  — 
in  part  at  least  —  that  guides  him  in  other  matters. 
She  is  tall  and  large  and  rotund,  but  not  too  rotund, 


120  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

and  was  dressed  in  black,  and  is  a  good  figure  of-  a 
woman.  As  for  Mr.  Hall,  he  has  his  ridiculous  side, 
and  I  cannot  exactly  judge  what  the  depth  of  his 
.heart  maybe;  it  may  possibly  be  all  surface,  but 
still  ^  do  not  think  him  insincere,  even  if  he  be  all 
surface."  At  dinner  Mr.  Hall  was  delivered  of  a 
long  tribute  to  Hawthorne's  genius;  and  the  latter 
replied  in  a  short  speech,  of  which  he  says  "  one  half 
was  in  all  probability  very  foolish,  and  the  other  half 
(God  forgive  me  !  )  false." 

Dr.  Mackay  next  proposed  the  health  of  Mrs.  Hall ; 
whereupon  "  her  husband  returned  thanks  in  another 
very  long  speech,  enlarging  upon  her  merits,  giving 
an  account  of  their  courtship  and  engagement  and 
early  marriage  and  subsequent  happiness,  and  inci 
dentally  treating  of  the  excellences  of  Mrs.  Hall's 
mother,  who  had  lived  with  them  upwards  of  thirty 
years  and  was  only  recently  deceased.  If  there  were 
any  good  in  him,  he  said,  he  owed  it  to  those  two 
women ;  —  and  there  certainly  is  good,  mixed  up 
with  a  vast  deal  of  nonsense  and  flummery. " 

Escaping  thence,  Hawthorne  next  fell  into  the 
clutches  of  the  Lord  Mayor,  but  was  more  than  re 
paid  for  any  inconvenience  he  may  have  been  sub 
jected  to,  by  the  spectacle  of  the  beautiful  Jewess 
who  sat  opposite  him,  and  whose  aspect  he  has  im 
mortalized  in  the  Miriam  of  "  The  Marble  Faun." 
Then  to  the  House  of  Commons,  where  he  saw  Dis 
raeli  —  «a  very  unwholesome-looking  person"  —  and 
Lord  Palmerston,  and  listened  to  a  debate.  In  the 


MRS.  BLODGETTS,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.     121 

Kefectory  they  saw  Disraeli  again.  "  He  don't  look 
as  if  be  had  a  healthy  appetite.  Bennoch  says  that 
he  makes  himself  up  with  great  care,  and  spends  a  long 
time  picking  the  white  hairs  from  his  sable  locks. 
He  is  said  to  be  poor ;  and  though  he  had  property 
with  his  wife,  it  is  all  gone." 

From  the  House  they  repaired  to  Albert  Smith's 
"  Mont  Blanc "  lecture.  Mr.  Albert  Smith  was  "  a 
gentleman  of  about  forty,  of  the  Dickens  school,  a 
little  flashy  and  rowdy,  but  a  good-hearted  man  and 
an  agreeable  companion.  We  went  to  Evans's  supper- 
rooms,  where  I  was  introduced  to  the  musical  critic 
of  the  "Times,"  and  to  Mr.  Lawrence,  author  of  the 
"Life  of  Fielding."  But  the  queerest  introduction 
was  that  of  the  superintendent  of  the  rooms,  a  Mr. 
Green,  who  expressed  himself  in  the  highest  degree 
honored  by  my  presence,  and  said  if  he  could  only 
have  Emerson  likewise,  and  Charming  (the  deceased 
Doctor,  I  presume),  and  Longfellow,  the  dream  of 
his  life  would  be  fulfilled !  It  is  a  good  place  to 
see  London  life  in,  and  I  mean,  sometime  or  other, 
to  go  there  again,  —  perhaps  with  Longfellow." 

Next  day  he  dined  with  Henry  Stevens,  an  Ameri 
can  gentleman  connected  with  the  Library  depart 
ment  of  the  British  Museum,  and  again  met  Tom 
Taylor,  whom  he  considered  to  be  sensible  and  active- 
minded,  with  "a  humorous  way  of  showing  up  men 
and  matters,  but  without  originality  or  much  imagi 
nation  or  dance  of  fancy."  After  dinner  there  wTas 
a  reception  in  the  drawing-room,  where  Hawthorne 


122  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

was  introduced  to  a  great  many  ladies  and  gentle 
men  who,  "  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  had  all  been  in 
vited  there  to  see  me."  "  It  is  ungracious,  even 
hoggish,"  he  continues  (to  quote  a  passage  already 
printed  from,  the  Note-Books),  "not  to  be  gratified 
with  the  interest  they  expressed  in  me ;  but  then  it 
is  really  a  bore,  and  one  does  not  know  what  to  do 
or  say.  I  felt  like  the  hippopotamus,  or  —  to  use 
a  more  modest  illustration  —  like  some  strange  in 
sect  imprisoned  under  a  tumbler,  with  a  dozen  eyes 
watching  whatever  I  did." 

This,  however,  was  his  final  trial.  The  next  even 
ing  a  telegram  arrived  at  Mrs.  Blodgett's,  announc 
ing  his  intended  arrival ;  and  his  son,  sharp-set  from 
a  three  weeks'  abstinence  from  the  paternal  society, 
rushed  off  the  following  morning  to  the  Waterloo 
Hotel,  and  found  him  seated  at  one  of  the  small  tables 
in  the  breakfast-room,  looking  much  less  depressed 
and  heavy  than  before  his  excursion.  I  remember 
that  day,  just  twenty-eight  years  ago,  very  well.  It 
struck  me  then,  perhaps  for  the  first  time,  that  he 
was  the  finest-looking  man  in  the  world. 

In  May,  Hawthorne  took  another  trip,  this  time  to 
Scotland  and  the  North  of  England,  stopping  at  Ab- 
botsford,  and,  on  his  way  home,  inspecting  York  Min 
ster.  He  went  over  the  same  ground  in  1857,  in 
company  with  Mrs.  Hawthorne  and  Julian.  A  few 
days  after  his  return,  he  dined  with  Beunoch  in 
Manchester,  meeting  Mr.  Ireland,  editor  of  the  "  Man 
chester  Examiner;"  Mr.  Watson,  a  merchant;  and  the 


MRS.  BLODGETT'S,  LISBON,  AND  LONDON.    123 

poet  Swain.  The  latter  impressed  Hawthorne  pleas 
antly  ;  he  says  that  he  had  simplicity,  feeling,  "  no 
great  energy,  good  sense,  —  of  which  latter  quality 
he  makes  perhaps  but  little  use  in  his  own  behalf. 
Not  that  I  take  him  for  one  of '  those  literary  men 
who  make  their  very  moderate  talent  an  excuse  for 
immoderate  self-indulgence.  I  think  him  an  irre 
proachable  man,  but  probably  a  very  inefficient  one. 
He  is  an  engraver,  I  believe,  by  profession  ;  and  as  to 
his  poetry,  I  had  the  volume,  but  I  do  not  well  recol 
lect  the  contents.  Mr.  Ireland  saw  Mr.  Emerson 
on  his  first  visit  to  Europe,  and  directed  him  how  to 
find  Caiiyle.  When  Emerson  was  again  here,  he 
spent  some  time  as  Ireland's  guest.  Ireland  is  one 
of  the  few  men  who  have  read  Thoreau's  books ;  and 
he  spoke  of  Margaret  Fuller,  and  of  the  '  Dial.'  But, 
on  the  whole,  I  think  the  English  Conservatives  are 
the  men  best  worth  knowing.  The  Liberals,  with  all 
their  zeal  for  novelty,  originate  nothing ;  and  one  feels 
a  little  disgusted  to  find  them  setting  forth  their  poor 
little  views  of  progress, —  especially  if  one  happens- 
to  have  been  a  Brook-  Farmer !  The  best  thing  a  man 
born  in  this  island  can  do  is,  to  eat  his  beef  and  mut 
ton  and  drink  his  porter,  and  take  things  as  they  are; 
and  think  thoughts  that  shall  be  so  beefish,  mutton- 
ish,  portish,  and  porterish,  that  they  shall  be  matters 
rather  material  than  intellectual.  In  this  way  an 
Englishman  is  natural,  wholesome,  and  good ;  a  being 
fit  for  the  present  time  and  circumstances,  and  entitled 
to  let  the  future  alone  ! " 

015^^ 

rTJ"NIV          T 
&4rrwrt' 


124  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

He  wandered  about  Manchester  the  next  day,  and 
saw,  among  other  things,  "the  new  picture  by  Millais, 
the  distinguished  Pre-Kaphaelite  artist,"  of  "The  Hu 
guenots."  He  then  returned  to  Liverpool,  and  there 
remained  until,  on  the  9th  of  June,  he  received  a 
telegram  announcing  the  welcome  news  that  Mrs. 
Hawthorne  and  their  two  daughters  had  arrived 
safely,  from  Lisbon,  at  Southampton.  The  next  day 
he  and  his  son  set  forth  on  the  journey  southwards. 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.        125 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME. 

IT  was  very  hot  weather.  We  spent  the  first  night 
at  Birmingham,  and,  resuming  our  journey  the  next 
morning,  passed  through  Leamington  and  Oxford,  at 
each  of  which  places  we  spent  an  hour  or  two.  We 
reached  Southampton  in  the  dusk  of  the  summer 
evening,  and  there,  at  the  Castle  Hotel,  we  found  the 
travellers  from  Lisbon  and  Madeira,  whom  we  had 
so  longed  to  see. 

Our  plan  was  to  spend  two  or  three  weeks  at  a 
country  boarding-house  near  Southampton,  and  then 
to  go  up  to  London.  The  house  in  question  was  not 
officially  a  boarding-house ;  it  was  a  young  ladies' 
seminary,  kept  by  a  Mrs.  Hume.  This  being  vaca 
tion  time,  the  young  ladies,  with  the  exception  of 
two  or  three  permanent  boarders,  had  gone  home, 
leaving  plenty  of  accommodation.  Mrs.  Hume  called 
upon  us  at  -the  hotel ;  she  was  a  small,  agreeable, 
well-looking  lady,  and  it  seemed  probable  that  our 
stay  in  her  abode  —  Clifton  Villa,  it  was  called  — 
would  be  very  pleasant.  So,  after  a  week  or  so  at 
the  Castle  Hotel,  and  a  day  at  Salisbury  and  Stone- 
heuge,  we  transferred  ourselves  thither.  "We  reached 


126  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

the'house,"  writes  Hawthorne,  "between  six  and  seven 
o'clock.  Looking  a  little  more  closely  at  the  lady,  I 
do  not  feel  quite  sure  that  the  scheme  of  boarding 
with  her  for  some  weeks  will  be  acted  out.  She 
seems  to  be  a  good  and  well-meaning  little  woman, 
with  spirit,  energy,  and  self-dependence ;  and,  being 
at  the  head  of  a  respectable  school  for  young  ladies, 
it  would  be  natural  to  suppose  her  cultivated  ami 
refined.  But  (at  this  stage  of  our  acquaintance)  I 
should  pronounce  her  underbred,  shallow,  affected,  — 
not  through  a  natural  lack  of  simplicity,  but  because 
her  position  impels  her  to  pretend  to  qualities  which 
she  does  not  possess,  —  and,  on  the  whole,  a  weari 
some  and  unintentionally  annoying  sort  of  person. 
As  mistress  of  a  school,  her  faculties  must  be  admin 
istrative  rather  than  instructive.  If  she  fed  us  better, 
I  suppose  I  might  be  more  lenient  in  my  judg 
ments  ;  but  eight  months  at  Mrs.  Bloclgett's  table 
have  not  been  a  very  good  preparation  for  the  school 
girl's  bread  and  butter,  morning  and  night,  and  the 
simple  joint  of  mutton  at  two  o'clock,  which  the  good 
lady  sets  before  us." 

The  simple  truth  was,  that  Mrs.  Hume  starved 
us,  and  afforded  us  nothing,  in  an  aesthetic  or  in 
tellectual  direction,  to  compensate  for  the  lack  of 
substantial  nourishment. 

A  visit  was  made  to  Gloucester ;  and  after  inspect 
ing  the  cathedral,  we  went  to  an  inn,  and  ordered  a 
solid  repast  of  meat  and  ale,  —  "a  very  satisfactory 
and  by  no  means  needless  refreshment,"  Hawthorne 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.        127 

remarks,  "  after  such  short  commons  as  Mrs.  Hume 
had  kept  us  upon."  And  then  he  goes  on  to  free 
his  mind  as  follows :  "  I  never  was  more  tired  of  a 
house  than  of  Clifton  Villa;  and  for  Mrs.  Hume's 
sake,  I  shall  forever  retain  a  detestation  of  thin  slices 
of  bread  and  butter.  She  is  an  awfully  thrifty 
woman,  and  nobody  can  sit  at  her  table  without 
feeling  that  she  both  numbers  and  measures  every 
mouthful  that  you  eat ;  and  the  consequence  is,  that 
your  appetite  is  discouraged  and  deadened,  without 
ever  being  satisfied.  She  brews  her  own  beer,  and  it 
is  inexpressibly' small,  and  is  served  out  (only  to  the 
more  favored  guests)  in  one  very  little  tumbler,  with 
no  offer  or  hint  of  a  further  supply.  There  is  water 
in  the  milk,  and  she  jwts  soda  into  the  teapot,  thereby 
to  give  the  tea  a  color  without  adding  to  its  strength. 
Human  life  gets  cold  and  meagre  under  such  a  sys 
tem  ;  and  I  must  say  that  I  cordially  hate  Mrs. 
Hume,  —  a  little,  bright,  shallow,  sharp,  capable,  self- 
relying,  good  woman  enough.  She  seems  to  have  a 
conscience  ;  for  she  charged  only  four  pounds  a  week, 
whereas  we  had  paid  nearly  twenty  at  the  Castle 
Hotel.  The  fare,  I  suppose,  is  a  fair  sample  of  the 
way  of  living  in  English  boarding-houses ;  or,  possi 
bly,  in  economical  English  families  generally." 

Escaping  from  this  Libby  Prison  of  middle-class 
English  propriety,  we  went  to  the  suburban  dwelling 
of  Mr.  Bennoch,  in  Blackheath,  within  arm's  reach 
of  London.  Here  we  spent  a  month,  comprising,  says 
Hawthorne,  "  some  of  the  happiest  hours  that  I  have 


I 


128  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

known  since  we  left  our  American  home."  Mrs. 
Newton  Crosland  lived  at  Blackheath,  and  Haw 
thorne  met  at  her  house  Mr.  Bailey,  the  author  of 
"Festus."  Another  day  he  visited  the  wine-vaults 
of  the  London  Docks ;  and  called  on  Mr.  Durham, 
the  sculptor,  and  examined  his  busts  and  other  works. 
In  the  evening  Dr.  Simpson,  a  London  physician, 
came  to  see  Mrs.  Hawthorne  professionally.  "  He  is 
a  physician  eminent  in  diseases  of  the  throat  and 
lungs  ;  about  forty  years  of  age,  a  very  pleasant,  cul 
tivated,  quickly  perceptive  man,  easy  and  genial- 
mannered.  After  a  glass  of  excellent  burgundy,  he 
assumed  his  professional  character,  and  gave  hopeful 
opinions  respecting  Sophia's  case,  and  ordered  some 
allopathic  medicines,  which  she  has  great  scruples  of 
conscience  and  judgment  about  taking ;  but  for  my 
part,  I  am  inclined  to  put  faith  in  what  is  tangible. 
After  tea  Bennoch,  the  Doctor,  Julian,  and  I  walked 
across  the  heath,  and  from  one  point  we  had  a 
fine  and  dusky  view  of  immense  London,  with  St. 
Paul's  in  the  midst,  and  the  towers  of  the  two  Houses 
of  Parliament,  four  or  five  miles  off.  On  a  bright 
morning  it  must  form  a  splendid  picture.  Coming 
home  by  Greenwich  Park,  we  saw  many  groups  and 
couples  wandering  about,  or  sitting  on  the  benches 
beneath  the  old  trees,  and  decorously  enjoying  them 
selves.  Continuing  our  ramble,  Bennoch  brought  us 
to  some  ancient  barrows,  beneath  which  are  supposed 
to  be  buried  the  slain  of  a  great  battle  that  was 
fought  in  the  plain  below,  two  or  three  centuries 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS   BEFORE  ROME.        129 

after  Christ.  They  are  small  mounds,  ten  or  twelve 
feet  in  diameter,  elevated  only  a  few  feet,  and  with  a 
shallow  depression  on  the  summit ;  and  it  seems  to 
be  pretty  certain  that  they  are  as  much  as  sixteen 
hundred  years  old.  When  one  of  them  was  opened, 
not  long  ago,  nothing  was  found  but  a  tuft  of  hair  and 
some  small  jewels, —  no  bones,  nor  aught  beside." 

He  met  Jenny  Lind,  and,  "  on  the  whole,  was  not 
very  much  interested  in  her ; "  Sir  Emerson  Tenneut, 
Samuel  Lover,  and  Miss  Jewsbury.  At  a  dinner  at 
Mrs.  Heywood's,  lie  saw  again  Mr.  Monckton  Milnes, 
and  his  wife,  who  was  of  noble  blood,  and  reminded 
him  of  "the  best-mannered  American  women."  She 
spoke  to  him  of  Tennyson,  and  said  that  Mrs.  Tenny 
son  was  "  a  wise  and  tender  woman,  such  as  ought  to 
be  intrusted  with  such  a  fragile  affair  as  Tennyson's 
comfort  and  happiness."  Torn  Taylor  was  there,  and 
Hawthorne  "  liked  him  very  well  this  evening ;  but 
he  is  a  gentleman  of  very  questionable  aspect, —  un- 
English,  tall,  slender,  colorless,  with  a  great  beard  of 
soft  black,  and,  me  thinks,  green  goggles  over  his 
eyes." 

Again,  he  breakfasted  with  Mr.  Milnes,  and  met 
such  persons  as  Mr.  Ticknor  (the  historian  of  Spanish 
Literature),  the  old  Marquis  of  Lansdowne,  Florence 
Nightingale,  Eobert  Browning,  and  Elizabeth  Barrett 
Browning,  whom  he  liked  very  much,  and  with  whom 
he  talked  of  spiritualism  and  of  Miss  Delia  Bacon's 
theory  regarding  Shakspeare ;  and  at  last  he  saw,  sit 
ting  next  the  host,  a  man  of  large  presence,  portly, 

VOL.  II.  9 


130  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

gray-haired,  but  scarcely  as  yet  aged,  with  a  face  fit 
for  a  scholar,  a  man  of  the  world,  a  cultivated  intel 
ligence,  and  became  aware  that  it  was  Macaulay. 
Hawthorne  writes  :  "  I  am  informed  that  the  respec 
table  old  Marquis  of  Lansdowue,  as  I  innocently  con 
sidered  him,  is  a  most  disreputable  character,  and 
that  he  is  the  original  of  Thackeray's  Lord  Steyne. 
I  thought  that  honor  belonged  to  the  Marquis  of 
Hertford."  His  trust  in  appearances  received  another 
shock  in  the  case  of  a  gentleman  who  had  shown  him 
many  courtesies,  but  who,  it  was  said,  "  began  life  as 
a  hairdresser ;  was  afterwards  an  unprincipled  adven 
turer,  on  the  Continent,  and  had  made  money  in 
most  questionable  ways;  but,  growing  wealthy,  he 
put  on  respectability,  and  was  now  an  honest  man. 
I  never  should  have  suspected  this  beforehand,"  says 
Hawthorne;  "yet,  now  that  I  know  it,  it  reconciles 
itself  well  enough  with  what  I  have  seen  of  him. 
There  is  a  kind  of  ease  and  smartness  in  his  manner 
which  I  have  never  seen  in  any  English  gentleman ; 
there  is  a  trimness  in  his  aspect  very  suitable  for  a 
hairdresser ;  and  he  wears  what  must  be  a  wig,  yet, 
if  so,  such  an  artful  and  exquisite  one  that  no  un 
professional  man  could  so  well  have  suited  himself. 
In  the  presence  of  Lady  Waldegrave  he  behaved  like 
a  footman  ;  in  short,  I  accept  the  statement  about  him, 
except  as  regards  his  deficient  honesty.  Well,  his 
morality  may  have  been  scanty  and  ragged  once, 
and  have  been  pieced  and  mended  as  he  rose  in  life. 
An  Englishman  with  such  facility  and  adaptiveness, 
BO  ready,  so  neat  in  his  action,  so  devoid  of  the 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.        131 

national  clumsiness,  is  a  kind  of  monster  to  begin 
with.  On  the  other  hand,  the  English  are  possibly 
less  tolerant  than  ourselves  of  men  who  attain  wealth 
by  any  other  than  the  ordinary  and  regular  methods 
and  may  accuse  them  of  dishonesty  when  they  have 
only  been  dexterous  and  shifty.  Our  friend  would 
be  altogether  more  at  home,  and  more  in  keeping 
with  the  society  around  him,  in  America  than  here. 
Come  what  may,  I  shall  always  feel  him  to  be,  at 
least,  a  kind  and  hospitable  man  ;  and,  hairdresser  or 
not,  he  was  a  gentleman  to  us." 

A  visit  to  Blenheim,  made  about  this  time,  is  re 
corded  in  "  Our  Old  Home  ; "  but  one  of  the  pleasant- 
est  excursions  of  the  summer  was  to  Oxford,  where 
Hawthorne  and  his  wife  were  very  kindly  received 
and  entertained  by  Mr.  Speirs,  the  ex-mayor  of  the 
town.  They  remained  several  days,  and  before  de 
parting,  the  whole  party  (including  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
S.  C.  Hall)  were  photographed  on  Mr.  Speirs's  lawn. 
In  this  photograph  Hawthorne  stands  on  the  extreme 
right,  facing  the  spectator,  with  his  feet  apart  and 
his  hands  behind  him,  and  his  black  frock  coat  un 
buttoned.  So  far  as  figure  and  pose  go,  it  is  an  ad 
mirable  likeness;  but  the  photograph,  qud  photograph, 
is  execrably  bad,  and  the  faces  of  none  of  the  group 
are  recognizable. 

About  the  middle  of  September  Hawthorne  and 
his  family  left  Mr.  Bennoch's,  and  betook  themselves 
to  Southport,  a  sandy  seaside  town  on  the  northern 
coast  of  England.  Lodgings  had  previously  been 
engaged  —  or,  rather,  a  house  had  been  rented  —  on 


132  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

the  esplanade.  Liverpool  was  only  about  twenty 
miles  distant,  and  therefore  easily  attainable  by  train ; 
and  Hawthorne  was  able  to  go  down  to  his  office  in 
the  morning  and  return  at  night.  The  tide,  as  at 
Rhyl,  retired  to  immeasurable  distances  at  low  water; 
the  neighboring  country  was  flat  and  uninteresting ; 
and,  the  "season"  being  just  over  at  the  time  of  our 
arrival,  the  place  was  deserted.  The  original  in 
tention  was  to  remain  there  only  until  December ; 
but  our  stay  there,  altogether,  extended  over  ten 
months,  though  Hawthorne  and  his  wife  and  their 
son  made  a  somewhat  extended  trip  into  Scotland, 
as^  well  as  to  Boston  and  other  places  in  England, 
during  that  period. 

Before  entering  upon  this,  however,  I  will  insert 
two  letters,  dating  back  to  before  the  time  we  left 
Blackheath. 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  HAWTHORNE,  —  I  write  a  hurried 
line  to  say  that  we  shall  be  in  town  on  Thursday  — 
Friday,  rather  —  for  some  two  weeks  or  more,  and 
shall  trust  to  see  yourself,  Una,  Julian,  and  Eose  — 
some  or  all  —  at  22  Woburn  Square,  where  we  shall 
be  on  our  first  arrival.  I  am  to  preach  on  the  20th 
and  perhaps  also  on  the  27th,  though  I  believe  I  am 
expected  to  preach  at  Essex  St.  on  that  day.  Mrs. 
Channing  will  tell  you,  when  she  meets  you,  the 
deep  regret  with  which  she  learned,  the  other  day, 
when  calling  on  a  friend  at  Mrs.  Blodgett's,  that  Mrs. 
Blodgett  knew  as  little  as  we  did  of  the  reasons  which 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME        133 

led  Julian  to  leave  us.  We  supposed  that  he  had 
received  directions  to  return,  or  we  should  have  been 
more  urgent  with  him  to  stay.  I  fear,  however,  he 
was  not  very  happy ;  and  he  is  a  boy  of  so  much  in 
dependence  and  decision  that  we  felt  little  inclined 
to  interfere  with  his  free  choice.  A  very  marked 
character  he  has,  and  I  doubt  not  will  be  a  high- 
minded  and  energetic  man.  But  I  must  close.  So 
with  warm  and  friendly  wishes,  and  the  hope  of  soon 
meeting, 

Yours  faithfully,        W  H.  CHANNING. 

LIVERPOOL,  Aug.  16,  1856. 

OLD  BOY,  —  "We  h'ave  very  good  dinners  at  Mrs. 
Blodgett's,  and  I  think  you  would  like  very  much  to 
be  there.  There  are  so  many  people  that  Charley 
sits  at  a  side-table,  and  he  lives  upon  the  fat  of  the 
land ;  and  so  would  you,  if  you  sat  at  the  side-table 
with  him.  Yesterday  he  ate  roast-beef  and  Yorkshire 
pudding :  but  if  he  had  preferred  it,  he  might  have 
had  some  chicken-pie,  with  nice  paste ;  or  some  roast 
duck,  which  looked  very  good  ;  or  some  tripe  fried  in 
batter ;  or  some  boiled  chicken,  —  or  a  great  many 
other  delectable  things.  And  we  had  two  kinds  of 
fish,  —  boiled  salmon  and  fried  soles.  I  myself  ate 
salmon ;  but  the  soles  seemed  to  be  very  nice  too. 
And  we  had  so  many  green  peas  that  they  were  not 
half  eaten,  and  string-beans  besides,  —  oh,  how  nice  ! 
When  the  puddings,  and  tarts,  and  custards,  and 
Banbury  cakes,  and  cheese-cakes,  and  greengages,  and 


134  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

that  kind  of  stuff,  was  put  on  the  table,  I  had  hardly 
any  appetite  left ;  but  I  did  manage  to  eat  some  cur 
rant  pudding,  and  a  Banbury  cake,  and  a  Victoria 
cake,  and  a  slice  of  a  beautiful  Spanish  musk-melon, 
and  some  plums.  If  you  had  been  there,  I  think 
you  would  have  had  a  very  good  dinner,  and  there 
would  not  have  been  nearly  so  many  nice  things  left 
on  the  table. 

Tell  mamma  that,  if  she  pleases,  I  have  no  objec 
tion  to  your  taking  riding-lessons  along  with  Una. 
Mamma  says  you  have  been  a  very  good  boy.  I  am 
glad  to  hear  it,  and  hope  you  will  keep  good  till  I  come 
back. 

Your  loving  father,     '   NATH.  HAWTHORNE. 

—  At  Southport  the  chief  event  of  interest  during 
the  winter  was  a  visit  from  Herman  Melville,  who 
turned  up  at  Liverpool  on  his  way  to  Constantinople, 
and  whom  Hawthorne  brought  out  to  spend  a  night 
or  two  with  us.  "  He  looked  much  the  same  as  he 
used  to  do ;  a  little  paler,  perhaps,  and  a  little  sadder, 
and  with  his  characteristic  gravity  and  reserve  of 
manner.  I  felt  rather  awkward  at  first,  for  this  is 
the  first  time  I  have  met  him  since  my  ineffectual 
attempt  to  get  him  a  consular  appointment  from  Gen 
eral  Pierce.  However,  I  failed  only  from  real  lack 
of  power  to  serve  him ;  so  there  was  no  reason  to  be 
ashamed,  and  we  soon  found  ourselves  on  pretty 
much  the  former  terms  of  sociability  and  confi 
dence.  Melville  has  not  been  well,  of  late ;  he  has 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.        135 

been  affected  with,  neuralgic  complaints,  and  no  doubt 
has  suffered  from  too  constant  literary  occupation, 
pursued  without  much  success  latterly;  and  his  writ 
ings,  for  a  long  while  past,  have  indicated  a  morbid 
state  of  mind.  So  he  left  his  place  in  Pittsfield,  and 
has  come  to  the  Old  World.  He  informed  me  that  he 
had  "  pretty  much  made  up  his  mind  to  be  anni 
hilated  ; "  but  still  he  does  not  seem  to  rest  in  that 
anticipation,  and  I  think  will  never  rest  until  he 
gets  hold  of  some  definite  belief.  It  is  strange  how 
he  persists  —  and  has  persisted  ever  since  I  knew 
him,  and  probably  long  before  — in  wandering  to  and 
fro  over  these  deserts,  as  dismal  and  monotonous  as 
the  sandhills  amidst  which  we  were  sitting.  He  can 
neither  believe,  nor  be  comfortable  in  his  unbelief; 
and  he  is  too  honest  and  courageous  not  to  try  to  do 
one  or  the  other.  If  he  were  a  religious  man,  he 
would  be  one  of  the  most  truly  religious  and  reveren 
tial  ;  he  has  a  very  high  and  noble  nature,  and  better 
worth  immortality  than  most  of  us." 

Melville  made  the  rounds  of  Liverpool  under  the 
guidance  of  Henry  Bright ;  and  afterwards  Haw 
thorne  took  him  to  Chester;  and  they  parted  the 
same  evening,  "  at  a  street  corner,  in  the  rainy  even 
ing.  I  saw  him  again  on  Monday,  however.  He 
said  that  he  already  felt  much  better  than  in  Amer 
ica  ;  but  observed  that  he  did  not  anticipate  much 
pleasure  in  his  rambles,  for  that  the  spirit  of  adven 
ture  is  gone  out  of  him.  He  certainly  is  much  over 
shadowed  since  I  saw  him  last ;  but  I  hope  he  will 


136  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

brighten  as  he  goes  onward.  He  sailed  on  Tuesday, 
leaving  a  trunk  behind  him,  and  taking  only  a  carpet 
bag  to  hold  all  his  travelling-gear.  This  is  the  next 
best  thing  to  going  naked ;  and  as  lie  wears  his  beard 
and  mustache,  and  so  needs  no  dressing-case, — 
nothing  but  a  toothbrush,  —  I  do  not  know  a  more 
independent  personage.  He  learned  his  travelling 
habits  by  drifting  about,  all  over  the  South  Seas,  wyfch 
no  other  clothes  or  equipage  than  a  red  flannel  shirt 
and  a  pair  of  duck  trousers.  Yet  we  seldom  see  men 
of  less  criticisable  manners  than  he." 

Among  the  curiosities  of  Southport  was  Mr.  Scaris- 
brook,  the  landlord  of  the  township.  "He  is  an  ec 
centric  man,  and  there  seems  to  be  an  obscurity  about 
the  early  part  of  his  life ;  according  to  some  reports, 
he  kept  a  gambling-house  in  Paris  before  succeeding 
to  the  estate.  Neither  is  it  a  settled  point  whether 
or  no  he  has  ever  been  married :  some  authorities 
utterly  ignoring  the  point;  others  affirming  that  he 
has  legitimate  children,  who  are  now  being  educated 
in  Paris.  He  is  a  Catholic,  but  is  bringing  up  his 
children,  they  say,  in  the  Protestant  faith.  He  is  a 
very  eccentric  and  nervous  man,  and  spends  all  his 
time  at  the  secluded  Hall,  which  stands  in  the  midst 
of  mosses  and  marshes ;  and  sees  nobody,  not  even 
his  steward.  He  might  be  an  interesting  person  to 
know ;  but,  after  all,  his  character,  as  I  have  just 
sketched  it,  turns  out  to  be  one  of  the  commonplaces 
of  novels  and  romance." 

Towards  the  end  of  February  of  the  next  year 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.        137 

(1857)  our  house  was  entered  by  burglars,  who  had 
come  up  from  Liverpool,  probably  with  splendid  an 
ticipations  of  the  booty  they  would  get  at  the  resi 
dence  of  the  American  Consul.  They  did  not  get 
much,  being  frightened  away  prematurely  by  a  noise; 
but,  on  coining  down  the  next  morning,  we  found  the 
house  in  quite  a  dishevelled  condition.  Hawthorne 
was  much  amused,  and  chuckled  a  good  deal  over 
the  misadventure,  though  the  thieves  had  carried  off, 
among  other  things,  his  boots  and  his  top-coat.  The 
police  earnestly  undertook  the  case,  and,  contrary  to 
all  anticipation,  and  not  a  little  to  Hawthorne's  re 
gret,  they  captured  the  two  scamps,  and  we  all  went 
down  to  the  police  court  to  "  appear  "  against  them. 
They  were  young  fellows ;  and  although  their  appear 
ance  was  that  of  thorough  rascality,  they  steadfastly 
maintained  a  demeanor  of  more  than  infantile  inno 
cence;  and  one  of  them  was  something  of  a  wag 
into  the  bargain,  so  that,  altogether,  the  affair  seemed 
vastly  entertaining  to  the  younger  members  of  the 
Consul's  family.  But  the  thieves  got  five  and  ten 
years'  imprisonment,  respectively,  which  was  proba 
bly  no  joke  to  them ;  and  by  this  time  they  are 
probably  in  another  and  better  world.  English 
thieves  seldom  live  long;  the  climate  as  well  as 
the  laws  are  against  them. 

On  the  10th  of  April  Hawthorne  left  his  two 
daughters  in  charge  of  their  governess,  Miss  Brown, 
at  Southport,  and  took  his  wife  and  son  with  him  on 
a  three  or  four  days'  trip  to  York  and  Manchester. 


138  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

Accounts  of  this  journey,  as  well  as  of  succeeding 
ones  to  Scotland  and  to  Old  Boston,  are  to  be  found 
both  in  the  Note-Books  and  in  Mrs.  Hawthorne's 
"Notes  in  England  and  Italy." 

Five  days  later,  Hawthorne  attended  a  banquet  on 
the  occasion  of  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  of  Mr. 
Browne's  free  library  at  Liverpool.  He  met  there 
Lord  Stanley  (the  present  Earl  of  Derby),  then  a 
young  man ;  and  seems  to  have  taken  a  fancy  to  him, 
though  he  says,  considered  as  one  whose  destiny  it 
was  to  take  a  leading  part  in  political  life,  he  ap 
peared  to  labor  under  certain  natural  or  physical  dis 
advantages.  "  I  would  not  care  to  take  his  position," 
he  says,  "  unless  I  could  have  considerably  more  than 
his  strength." 

The  expedition  to  Old  Boston  now  followed ;  and 
on  the  way  back,  a  visit  was  made  to  Newstead 
Abbey,  formerly  the  residence  of  Lord  Byron,  and  at 
that  time  in  possession  of  Colonel  Wildman.  Mrs. 
Hawthorne,  in  a  letter  written  to  her  daughter  Una, 
describes  the  abbey  with  much  minuteness,  and 
says  that  after  they  had  returned  to  their  hotel,  the 
landlady  came  in  and  gave  her  many  interesting  par 
ticulars  about  the  Byrons,  with  whom  her  mother 
and  herself  had  had  considerable  intercourse,  years 
before.  "She  told  me  that  when  Lady  Lovelace, 
two  years  before  her  death,  went  to  Newstead,  Lord 
Lovelace  brought  her  here  (to  the  hotel),  and  re 
mained  here  during  her  visit  to  her  father's  house, 
not  being  willing  to  accompany  her.  She  said  the 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.        139 

Lady  Ada  was  not  beautiful,  and  did  not  resemble 
her  father  at  all ;  that  she  was  extremely  careless  in 
her  dress,  not  looking  as  well-appointed  as  her  maid ; 
and  that  she  was  very  silent  and  gloomy.  After  her 
departure  Colonel  Wildman  came  to  see  Mrs.  Browne 
(the  landlady)  and  told  her  all  about  the  visit.  He 
did  not  invite  Lady  Lovelace  to  Newstead,  he  said, 
and  was  quite  amazed  to  see  her  and  to  find  she  in 
tended  to  stay.  He  presumed,  however,  she  would 
make  herself  a  pleasant  guest,  as  he  had  heard  of  her 
accomplishments  and  learning;  and  bethought  him 
of  all  his  Latin  and  Greek  and  algebra,  so  as  to  be 
able  to  cope  with  her  in  conversation.  But  she  ap 
peared  to  be  a  perfect  blank;  her  only  response  to 
all  his  efforts  at  talking  with  her  were  ( Yes '  and 
'No.'  She  kept  her  eyes  cast  down,  and  her  thoughts 
and  ideas  to  herself.  So  it  went  on  for  two  days, 
till  the  kind  Colonel  lost  patience ;  and  when  on  the 
third  morning  she  went  down  in  the  gardens,  he  fol 
lowed  her,  and  accosted  her  with  resolute  sociability. 
She  then  suddenly  burst  through  her  cloud  of  reserve, 
and  confided  to  him  her  thoughts.  She  told  him 
how  sad  and  absorbed  she  had  been  at  finding  herself 
in  her  father's  home,  and  that  she  was  so  oppressed 
she  could  not  utter  a  word  or  respond  in  any  way  to 
his  kindness,  but  that  she  regretted  her  apparent  in 
civility,  and  would  no  longer  hold  herself  aloof.  So 
from  that  moment  she  was  very  communicative,  and 
the  Colonel  told  Mrs.  Browne  he  had  never  before 
met  with  so  agreeable  and  cultivated  a  lady.  The 


140  I1A  WTLIORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

unfortunate  Lady  Lovelace  had  two  sons,  both  of 
whom  were  wild  young  men ;  and  I  remember  that 
Lord  Lovelace  called  on  papa  at  the  Consulate  to  in 
quire  after  one  of  them,  who  had  disappeared,  he  did 
not  know  where,  but  supposed  he  had  gone  to  sea.  He 
thought  papa  might  know  whether  he  had  gone  to 
America.  With  all  her  accomplishments,  Lady  Love 
lace  had  great  failings,  like  Lord  Byron,  and  lost 
forty  thousand  pounds  by  gambling,  a  short  time  be 
fore  her  last  illness.  And  Mrs.  Browne  believed  that 
this  loss  caused  her  death.  The  good  landlady  had 
also  entertained  Lord  Byron's  beloved  sister,  Mrs. 
Augusta  Leigh.  She  said  she  was  not  beautiful,  but 
had  a  very  gentle  and  amiable  countenance.  But 
she  also  had  a  son  who  was  dissipated,  arid  made  his 
mother  wretched.  This  young  Leigh  came  here  a 
great  deal,  and  talked  very  freely  with  Mrs.  Browne ; 
and  one  day  he  told  her  he  was  going  to  be  married. 
She  begged  him  not  to  do  so,  because  he  was  too  wild 
and  thoughtless,  and  could  not  make  a  wife  happy. 
But  he  replied  that  it  was  too  late,  —  that  he  had 
settled  it  all.  So  he  soon  brought  to  the  George  the 
Fourth  Inn  a  lovely  little  fairy,  whom  he  introduced 
as  his  wife;  and  he  cautioned  Mrs.  Browne  not  to 
whisper  a  word  to  her  about  his  true  character,  for 
she  was  loving  and  content,  and  he  was  going  to  be 
quite  sedate  and  good.  And  this  was  the  last  she 
ever  saw  or  heard  of  either  him  or  his  child-wife. 
Every  one  connected  with  Lord  Byron  seemed 
doomed,  —  for  even  Mary  Chaworth,  his  first  love, 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.        141 

became  very  unhappy  in  her  marriage.  Mrs.  Browne 
talked  a  great  deal  about  Colonel  Wildman.  He 
bought  the  estate  six  years  before  the  poet's  death, 
and  Lord  Byron  was  very  glad  that  he  should  have 
it.  On  account  of  a  mortgage,  he  bought  it  for  only 
£80,000,  and  he  has  since  spent  many  thousands 
of  pounds  in  restoring  and  adorning  it.  He  has 
also  been  at  great  expense  in  entertaining  distin 
guished  and  even  royal  guests ;  the  Duke  of  Sussex 
(with  a  train  of  lords  and  gentlemen)  was  very  fond 
of  going  there,  and  nearly  ruined  the  poor  Colonel  at 
every  visit,  especially  as  he  had  lost  a  large  amount 
of  money  in  the  East  Indies.  So  now  he  is  not  very 
rich,  but  still  most  generous  and  hospitable.  He  is 
easily  excited;  and  she  described  very  amusingly  his 
terrible  rage  when  he  rushed  into  the  hotel  one  day, 
and  told  her  about  Barnum's  having  offered  him 
£500  for  the  tree  on  which  Byron  had  carved  his 
name." 

This  George  the  Fourth  Hotel  seerns  to  have  been 
a  veritable  Dionysius's  Ear ;  and  good  Mrs.  Browne 
would  stand  as  -the  prototype  of  all  the  loquacious 
housekeepers,  with  prodigious  memories,  who  work 
up  the  historical  portions  of  the  Mrs.  Wood  and 
Miss  Braddon  species  of  romances. 

Now  followed  the  Scottish  expedition ;  but  I  can 
only  add,  to  what  has  been  already  printed  on  the 
subject,  this  little  passage,  —  they  had  spent  the 
9th  of  July  in  wandering  all  over  Edinburgh,  and 
had  enjoyed  themselves  greatly.  "As  it  was  our 


^^ 
IUH  TY 


142  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS  WIFE. 

wedding-day,"  says  Hawthorne,  "and  as  our  union 
has  turned  out  to  the  uttermost  satisfaction  of  both 
parties,  after  fifteen  years'  trial,  I  gave  mamma  a  gold- 
and-amethyst-bodied  cairngorm  beetle,  with  a  ruby 
head." 

On  the  20th  of  July  we  finally  uprooted  ourselves 
from  Southport,  and  went  to  Manchester,  where  the 
Exhibition  was  in  progress,  and  where  we  remained 
six  weeks,  in  homely  but  not  homelike  lodgings  at 
Chorlton  Eoad.  However,  as  we  were  most  of  the 
time  at  the  Exhibition,  that  did  not  make  so  much 
difference.  Hawthorne  went  diligently  and  repeatedly 
through  all  the  galleries  of  pictures  and  sculptures, 
at  first  with  weariness  and  distrust,  but  afterwards 
more  cordially.  The  truth  is,  he  did  not  enjoy  pic 
tures.  The  art  seemed  to  him  artifice;  he  wished 
the  picture  to  be  as  good  as  nature  in  the  first  place, 
and  then  as  much  better  as  selection  and  arrange 
ment  could  make  it.  He  was  inclined  to  ascribe 
great  merit  to  the  Dutch  School,  on  account  of  the 
minute  perfection  of  their  technique ;  and  he  disap 
proved  of  them  at  the  same  time  because  they  ex 
pended  these  pains  on  such  undignified  subjects.  As 
for  the  "  Eaphaels,  Correggios,  and  stuff,"  their  failure 
was  the  reverse  of  this :  they  chose  lofty  subjects,  but 
there  was  not  enough  illusion  of  reality.  In  the  end 
he  favored  the  latter  class  of  painters  rather  than  the 
former,  and  admired  more  than  aught  else  the  por 
trait  of  "  Beatrice  Cenci"  (as  it  used  to  be  called), 
the  charm  of  which  depends  wholly  on  the  expression 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.        143 

and  pose  ;  the  brushwork  being  inferior.  Mrs.  Haw 
thorne,  on  the  other  hand,  enjoyed  the  Exhibition 
without  limit ;  she  had  vastly  more  artistic  faith  than 
her  husband,  and  much  less  of  the  arrogant,  uneasy, 
Puritan  conscience,  which  would  not  let  him  unre 
strainedly  enjoy  a  rose  unless  he  could  feel  convinced 
that  both  the  rose  and  he  deserved  it. 

While  wandering  about  the  galleries  one  day,  with 
his  friend  Ireland,  he  had  some  glimpses  of  Alfred 
Tennyson,  who  was  also  strolling  about  in  company 
with  the  sculptor  Woolner.  Hawthorne  had  the 
highest  appreciation  of  Tennyson's  poetry,  and  had 
long  been  desirous  of  seeing  the  man.  "  Tennyson," 
he  says,  "is  the  most  picturesque  figure,  without 
affectation,  that  I  ever  saw ;  of  middle  size,  rather 
slouching,  dressed  entirely  in  black,  and  with  noth 
ing  white  about  him  except  the  collar  of  his  shirt, 
which,  methought,  might  have  been  whiter  the  day 
before.  He  had  on  a  black  wide-awake  hat,  with 
round  crown  and  wide,  irregular  brim,  beneath  which 
came  down  his  long  black  hair,  looking  terribly 
tangled;  he  had  a  long  pointed  beard,  too,  a  little 
browner  than  the  hair,  and  not  so  abundant  as  to  en 
cumber  any  of  the  expression  of  his  face.  His  frock 
coat  was  buttoned  up  across  the  breast,  though  the 
afternoon  was  warm.  His  face  was  very  dark,  and 
not  exactly  a  smooth  face,  but  worn,  and  expressing 
great  sensitiveness,  though  not  at  that  moment  the 
pain  and  sorrow  that  is  seen  in  his  bust.  His  eyes 
were  black ;  but  I  know  little  of  them,  as  they  did 


144  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

not  rest  on  me,  nor  on  anything  but  the  pictures. 
He  seemed  as  if  he  did  not  see  the  crowd,  nor  think 
of  them,  but  as  if  he  defended  himself  from  them  by 
ignoring  them  altogether;  nor  did  anybody  but  my 
self  cast  a  glance  at  him.  Mr.  Woolner  was  as  un 
like  Tennyson  as  could  well  be  imagined  ;  a  small, 
smug  man,  in  a  blue  frock  and  brown  pantaloons. 
They  talked  about  the  pictures,  and  passed  pretty 
rapidly  from  one  to  another,  Tennyson  looking  at 
them  through  a  pair  of  spectacles  which  he  held  in 
his  hand,  and  then  standing  a  minute  before  those 
that  interested  him,  with  his  hands  folded  behind 
his  back.  There  was  an  entire  absence  of  stiffness 
in  his  figure ;  no  set-up  in  him  at  all ;  no  nicety  nor 
trim  ness  ;  and  if  there  had  been,  it  would  have  spoilt 
his  whole  aspect. 

"  Knowing  how  much  my  wife  would  delight  to 
see  him,  I  went  in  searcli  of  her,  and  found  her  and 
the  rest  of  us  under  the  music  gallery ;  and  we  all, 
Fanny  and  Eosebud  included,  went  back  to  the  saloon 
of  the  Old  Masters.  So  rapid  was  his  glance  at  the 
pictures,  that  in  the  little  interval  Tennyson  had 
got  half-way  along  the  other  side  of  the  saloon,  and, 
as  it  happened,  an  acquaintance  had  met  him  —  an 
elderly  gentleman  and  lady  —  and  he  was  talking  to 
them  as  we  approached.  I  heard  his  voice,  —  a  bass 
voice,  but  not  of  a  resounding  depth,  —  a  voice  rather 
broken,  as  it  were,  and  ragged  about  the  edges,  but 
pleasant  to  the  ear.  His  manner,  while  conversing 
with  these  people,  was  not  in  the  least  that  of  an 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.        145 

awkward  man,  unaccustomed  to  society;  but  he 
shook  hands  and  parted  with  them,  evidently,  as 
soon  as  he  conveniently  could,  and  shuffled  away 
quicker  than  before.  He  betrayed  his  shy  and  se 
cluded  habits  more  in  this  than  in  anything  else  that 
I  observed ;  though,  indeed,  in  his  whole  presence  I 
was  indescribably  sensible  of  a  morbid  painfulness 
in  him,  —  a  something  not  to  be  meddled  with.  Very 
soon  he  left  the  saloon,  shuffling  along  the  floor  with 
short,  irregular  steps,  —  a  very  queer  gait,  as  if  he  were 
walking  in  slippers  too  loose  for  him.  I  had  observed 
that  lie  seemed  to  turn  his  feet  slightly  inward,  after 
the  fashion  of  Indians. 

"I  should  be  glad  to  smoke  a  cigar  with  him. 
Mr.  Ireland  says  that,  having  heard  he  was  to  be  at 
the  Exhibition,  and  not  finding  him  there,  he  con 
jectured  that  he  must  have  gone  into  the  Botanical 
Garden  to  smoke  ;  and,  sure  enough,  he  found  him 
there.  He  told  me  an  anecdote  about  Tennyson 
while  on  a  visit  to  Paris.  He  had  a  friend  with  him 
who  could  not  speak  very  good  French,  any  more 
than  the  poet  himself.  They  were  sitting  at  the  fire 
side  in  the  parlor  of  the  hotel;  and  the  friend  pro 
posed  a  walk  about  the  city,  and  finally  departed, 
leaving  Tennyson  at  the  fireside,  and  telling  the 
waiter  '  ne  souffrez  pas  le  faire  sortir.'  By  and  by 
Tennyson  also  rose  to  go  out ;  but  the  waiter  op 
posed  him  with  might  and  main,  and  called  another 
waiter  to  his  assistance ;  and  when  Tennyson's  friend 
returned,  he  found  him  really  almost  fit  for  a  strait- 

VOL.  II.  10 


146  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

jacket.  He  might  well  enough  pass  for  a  madman 
at  any  time,  there  being  a  wildness  in  his  aspect 
which  doubtless  might  readily  pass  from  quietude  to 
frenzy.  He  is  exceedingly  nervous." 

Our  residence  in  Manchester  came  to  an  end  soon 
after  this,  and  we  next  settled  down  in  Lansdowne 
Circus,  Leamington,  where  the  months  of  September 
and  October  were  passed.  It  was  at  this  place  that 
we  were  joined  by  Miss  Ada  Shepard,  who  acted  as 
governess  in  the  family  during  the  ensuing  two  years, 
and  who  —  if  Steele's  classic  compliment  to  Lady 
Elizabeth  Hastings  was  not  quite  applicable  to  her 
—  was  at  all  events  a  young  lady  of  sound  and  varied 
accomplishments,  which  were  yet  less  noticeable  than 
her  winning  manners  and  pleasant  aspect.  This 
American  girl  of  three-and-twenty  added  not  a  little 
to  the  pleasure  of  our  Italian  tour,  and  was  invalu 
able  as  an  interpreter  of  the  various  strange  tongues 
one  meets  with  on  the  Continent. 

The  weather  at  Lansdowne  Circus  was  very  pleas 
ant,  and  the  autumnal  air  was  an  invitation  to  walk 
ing,  which  was  often  accepted.  Hawthorne's  favorite 
direction  was  the  immemorial  village  of  Wituash, 
where  the  houses  were  of  the  Elizabethan  period  or 
earlier,  with  frameworks  of  oak  filled  in  with  plaster, 
and  where,  in  front  of  the  old  church,  stood  the  older 
yew-tree,  with  space  for  half  a  dozen  persons  to  stand 
inside  its  hollow  trunk.  Another  walk  we  often  took 
was  to  Warwick,  about  two  miles  distant.  I  take  the 
following  acount  of  one  of  them  from  the  journal:  — 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.        147 

"On  Monday,  a  warm  and  bright  afternoon,  Julian 
and  I  took  a  walk  together  to  Warwick.  It  appeared 
to  me  that  the  suburbs  of  Warwick  now  stretch  fur 
ther  towards  Leamington  than  they  did  at  our  last 
visit ;  there  being  still  some  pretty  reaches  of  sylvan 
road,  with  bordering  hedges  and  overshadowing  trees, 
and  here  and  there  a  bench  for  the  wayfarer ;  but  then 
begin  the  vulgar  brick  dwellings  for  the  poorer  classes, 
or  the  stuccoed  Elizabethan  imitation  for  those  a  step 
or  two  above  them.  Neither  did  I  find  in  the  town 
itself  such  an  air  of  antiquity  as  I  thought  I  remem 
bered  there,  though  the  old  archway  looks  as  ancient 
as  ever.  But  the  Hospital  close  by  it  has  certainly 
undergone  some  transmogrification,  the  nature  of 
which  I  cannot  quite  make  out. 

"  We  turned  aside,  before  entering  the  heart  of  the 
town,  and  went  to  the  stone  bridge  over  the  Avon, 
where  such  a  fine  view  of  the  castle  is  to  be  obtained. 
I  suppose  I  have  described  it  already ;  but  I  am  certain 
that  there  is  nothing  more  beautiful  in  the  world,  in 
such  a  quiet,  sunny  summer  afternoon,  than  these 
gray  turrets  and  towers  and  high-windowed  walls, 
softened  with  abundant  foliage  intermixed,  and  look 
ing  down  upon  the  sleepy  river,  along  which,  between 
the  bridge  and  the  castle,  the  willows  droop  into  the 
water.  I  stayed  a  good  while  on  the  bridge,  and  Ju 
lian  mounted  astride  of  the  balustrade  and  jogged  up 
and  down  like  a  postilion,  thereby  exciting  a  smile 
from  some  ladies  who  drove  by  in  a  barouche.  We 
afterwards  returned  towards  the  town,  and,  turning 


148  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

down  a  narrow  lane,  bordered  with  some  old  cottages 
and  one  or  two  ale-houses,  we  found  that  it  led 
straight  to  the  castle  walls,  and  terminated  beneath 
them.  It  seemed  to  be  the  stable  entrance ;  and  as 
two  gentlemen  and  a  groom  were  just  riding  away,  I 
felt  ashamed  to  stand  there  staring  at  the  walls  which 
I  had  no  leave  to  look  upon ;  so  I  turned  back  with 
Julian  and  went  into  the  town.  The  precincts  of  the 
castle  seem  to  be  very  extensive,  and  its  high  and 
massive  outer  wall  shoulders  up  almost  to  the  princi 
pal  street.  We  rambled  about,  without  any  definite 
aim,  and  passed  under  the  pillars  that  support  the 
spire  of  St.  Mary's  Church ;  and  thence  into  the  mar 
ket-place,  where  we  found  an  omnibus  just  on  the 
point  of  starting  for  Leamington.  I  have  never  yet 
seen  —  what  those  who  have  seen  it  call  the  finest 
spectacle  in  England  —  the  interior  of  Warwick 
Castle  ;  it  being  shown  only  on  Saturdays.  I  do  not 
blame  the  Earl ;  for  I  would  hardly  take  his  magnifi 
cent  castle  as  a  gift,  burthened  with  the  condition 
that  the  public  should  be  free  to  enter  it." 

—  I  recollect  a  visit  we  made  to  Coventry  about  this 
time,  because  of  a  little  incident  that  happened  there, 
not  much  in  itself,  but  which  impressed  at  least 
one  of  those  present  in  a  manner  not  to  be  forgotten. 
Hawthorne,  his  wife,  and  son  arrived  in  Coventry 
after  dark,  and  took  a  cab,  the  driver  of  which  was 
ordered  to  drive  us  to  a  hotel.  Off  we  rattled  accord 
ingly,  and  presently  pulled  up  at  a  place  the  out 
ward  aspect  of  which  was  not  inviting.  The  cabby 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.        149 

got  down  to  open  the  cab  door ;  but  Hawthorne  told 
him  to  bid  the  landlord  step  out  to  us.  The  landlord 
came  out  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and,  putting  his  head 
into  our  window,  filled  the  vehicle  with  the  aroma 
of  inferior  brandy.  Hawthorne  felt  indignant,  but 
asked  the  man,  courteously,  whether  he  could  furnish 
us  with  a  private  sitting-room.  "  I  don't  know,  sir," 
he  replied ;  "  I  '11  see  what  we  can  do  for  you ! " 
"  Driver,  this  won't  do,"  said  Hawthorne ;  "  take  us 
somewhere  else."  We  rattled  along  once  more,  and 
at  length  again  halted,  and  the  driver  came  to  the 
window.  We  were  in  a  shabby  and  ill-lighted  part 
of  the  town,  and  alongside  of  an  iron  railing,  with  a 
gate  through  it.  "  If  you  '11  come  with  me,  sir,"  said 
the  cabby,  "  I  '11  show  you  a  place  — "  But  here 
Hawthorne  interrupted  him.  "Why  should  I  go 
with  you  ? "  he  demanded,  in  a  tone  that  made  the 
unfortunate  jehu  start  as  if  he  had  been  kicked ;  and 
then,  in  a  voice  as  terrible  as  the  blast  of  a  trumpet, 
"  Why  don't  you  drive  us  to  the  best  hotel  in  town, 
as  I  told  you  to  ? "  As  he  spoke,  there  was  an  ex 
pression  in  his  eyes  —  a  sudden  flame  of  wrath  — 
which,  together  with  the  voice,  not  only  sobered  the 
half-tipsy  cabby  and  sent  him  flying  back  to  his  box 
as  if  he  had  been  blown  thither  by  an  explosion,  but 
so  appalled  the  other  two  auditors  that  they  scarcely 
recovered  their  breath  until  they  were  safely  en 
sconced  in  a  good  suite  of  rooms  in  "  the  best  hotel 
in  town."  Mrs.  Hawthorne  afterwards  said,  "That 
was  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  papa  raise  his  voice 


150  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS  WIFE. 

to  a  human  being."  But  in  the  days  before  his  mar 
riage,  when  overseeing  the  perverse  and  conscience 
less  coal-shippers  on  the  Boston  wharves,  Hawthorne 
had  made  his  voice  heard  and  his  indignation  felt 
as  forcibly  as  now. 

Leaving  Leamington  on  the  10th  of  November,  we 
went  into  lodgings  at  24  Great  Russell  Street,  nearly 
opposite  the  British  Museum.  We  intended  starting 
for  the  Continent  before  the  end  of  the  month ;  but 
all  the  children  were  taken  with  measles,  and  our 
departure  was  consequently  delayed  until  the  first  of 
the  New  Year  (1858).  The  physician  who  attended 
the  invalids  was  Dr.  J.  J.  Garth  Wilkinson,  the  biog 
rapher  of  Swedenborg,  and  at  that  period  somewhat 
involved  in  spiritism.  Hawthorne  went  to  a  small 
evening  reception  at  his  house,  when  the  Doctor 
showed  him  spirit  poetry,  and  told  him  of  marvels 
in  the  "  materializing "  line,  and  so  forth.  "  Do  I 
believe  in  these  wonders  ? "  Hawthorne  asks  himself 
in  the  Note-Books.  "Of  course;  for  how  is  it  pos 
sible  to  doubt  either  the  solemn  word  or  the  sober 
observation  of  a  learned  and  sensible  man  like  Dr. 
Wilkinson  ?  But,  again,  do  I  really  believe  it  ?  Of 
course  not;  for  I  cannot  consent  to  have  heaven  and 
earth,  this  world  and  the  next,  beaten  up  together 
like  the  white  and  yolk  of  an  egg,  merely  out  of 
respect  to  Dr.  Wilkinson's  sanity  and  integrity.  .  .  . 
Meanwhile  this  matter  of  spiritualism  is  surely  the 
strangest  that  ever  was  heard  of;  and  yet  I  feel  un 
accountably  little  interest  in  it,  —  a  sluggish  disgust, 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.        151 

and  repugnance  to  meddle  with  it ; "  —  a  repugnance, 
we  may  venture  to  add,  characteristic  of  a  thoroughly 
healthy  and  well-balanced  mind.  Whether  spiritism 
be  true  or  false  is  of  small  moment ;  but  it  is  emi 
nently  expedient  not  to  meddle  with  it. 

Dr.  Wilkinson  introduced  Hawthorne  to  Coventry 
Patmore,  the  poet  of  "  The  Angel  in  the  House,"  — 
a  poem  which  Hawthorne  had  been  greatly  pleased 
with,  as  he  now  was  with  its  author.  He  was  the 
last  person  whom  it  was  pleasant  to  think  of  as  a 
friend,  that  we  met  previous  to  our  departure  for 
France  and  Italy. 

It  only  remains  to  append  some  letters  and  docu 
ments  referring  to  official  matters.  Hawthorne  had 
sent  in  his  resignation  as  American  Consul  early  in 
the  summer.  During  his  term  of  office  he  had 
striven  vigorously  to  improve  the  condition  of  affairs 
that  obtained  between  the  seamen  and  the  officers  on 
board  American  vessels.  Mr.  Henry  Bright  strongly 
sympathized  with  his  action,  and  supported  it  in 
every  way  open  to  him ;  and  he  has  kindly  for 
warded  to  me  the  extracts  which  I  here  append,  and 
which  explain  themselves. 

"  Mr.  Hawthorne,"  writes  Mr.  Bright,  "  took  a  warm 
interest  in  putting  down  cruelty  at  sea,  especially  in 
American  ships ;  and  I  have  a  long  letter  from  him 
on  the  subject.  But  he  did  not  wish  to  come  for 
ward  publicly  in  the  matter.  The  question  had  dis 
turbed  me  a  good  deal,  and  at  that  time  (1859)  I  was 
preparing  a  pamphlet,  and  hoped  to  get  a  letter  from 


152  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

your  father  which  I  might  quote ;  but  he  dicj.  not 
wish  to  be  quoted,  and  all  I  could  do  was  to  allude 
to  him  and  to  the  then  Consul,  Mr.  Dudley.  Now 
the  evil  is  much  abated.  I  enclose  an  extract  from 
your  father's  letter  (Kome,  April,  1859)." 

—  The  extract  is  as  follows :  "  It  is  a  very  horrible 
state  of  things ;  there  is  an  immense  amount  of  un 
punishable  cruelty  :  but  the  perpetrators  of  it,  as  well 
as  the  sufferers  by  it,  are  the  victims  of  a  vicious 
system.     At  the  bottom  of  the  whole  lies  the  fact 
that  there  are  no  good  seamen  to  be  had  ;  the  next 
worst  thing  is  the  mode  of  shipping  seamen,  and  the 
payment  of  advance  wages ;  lastly,  there  is  the  in 
finite  absurdity  of  allowing  our  ships  to  go  to  sea 
without  arming  the  officers  with  any  legal  means  of 
enforcing  their  authority." 

—  In  "  Our  Old  Home  "  ("  Consular  Experiences  ") 
Mr.  Hawthorne  further  remarks  :  "  The  newspapers 
all   over   England    contained   paragraphs   inveighing 
against  the  cruelties  of  American  shipmasters.     The 
British  Parliament  took  up  the  matter  (for  nobody  is 
so  humane  as  John  Bull  when  his  benevolent  pro 
pensities  are  to  be  gratified  by  finding  fault  with  his 
neighbor),  and  caused  Lord  John  Kussell  to  remon 
strate  with  our  Government  on  the  outrages  for  which 
it  was  responsible  before  the  world,   and  which  it 
failed  to  prevent  or  punish.     The  American  Secre 
tary  of  State,  old  General  Cass,  responded,  with  per 
fectly  astounding  ignorance  of  the   subject,  to  the 
effect  that  the  statements  of  outrages  had  probably 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE   ROME.        153 

been  exaggerated,  that  the  present  laws  of  the  United 
States  were  quite  adequate  to  deal  with  them,  and 
that  the  interference  of  the  British  Minister  was  un 
called  for.  ...  I  once  thought  of  writing  a  pamphlet 
on  the  subject,  but  quitted  the  Consulate  before 
finding  time  to  effect  my  purpose ;  and  all  that  phase 
of  my  life  immediately  assumed  so  dreamlike  a  con 
sistency  that  I  despaired  of  making  it  seem  solid  or 
tangible  to  the  public." 

The  "  paragraphs  in  the  newspapers  "  and  General 
Cass's  reply  to  them  had  reflected  obliquely  on  Haw 
thorne's  conduct  in  office,  and  drew  from  him  the 
following  very  strong  despatch  to  the  Secretary  of 
State:  — 

Despatch  No.  90. 

CONSULATE  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES, 
LIVERPOOL,  June  17,  1857. 

SIR,  —  There  has  recently  appeared,  in  most  of  the 
English  newspapers,  what  purports  to  be  a  letter  from 
the  Secretary  of  State  of  the  United  States,  to  Lord 
Napier,  British  Minister  at  Washington,  in  response 
to  a  communication  from  his  Lordship  on  the  treat 
ment  of  American  seamen.  In  making  some  remarks 
upon  that  letter,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  I 
do  not  presume  to  interfere  in  a  discussion  between 
the  head  of  a  department,  in  which  I  am  a  subordi 
nate  officer,  and  the  minister  of  a  foreign  power. 
But  as  the  above-mentioned  letter  has  been  made 
public  property,  there  is  as  much  propriety  in  my 


154  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

referring  to  it  as  to  any  other  matter  of  public  im 
portance  bearing  especial  reference  to  my  official 
duties.  I  therefore  take  the  liberty  to  address  you, 
on  the  supposition  that  this  document  expresses  the 
opinion  and  intimates  the  policy  of  our  Government 
respecting  a  subject  on  which  I  have  bestowed  much 
thought,  and  with  which  I  have  had  opportunities  to 
become  practically  acquainted. 

The  sentiment  is  very  decidedly  expressed  in  the 
letter,  that  the  "  laws  now  in  force  on  the  subject  of 
seamen  employed  on  board  the  mercantile  vessels  of 
the  United  States  are  quite  sufficient  for  their  pro 
tection."  I  believe  that  no  man,  practically  con 
nected  with  our  commercial  navy,  whether  as  owner, 
officer,  or  seaman,  would  affirm  that  the  present 
marine  laws  of  the  United  States  are  such  as  the 
present  condition  of  our  nautical  affairs  imperatively 
demands.  These  laws  may  have  been  wise,  and  effect 
ual  for  the  welfare  of  all  concerned,  at  the  period  of 
their  enactment.  But  they  had  in  view  a  state  of 
things  whicli  has  entirely  passed  away;  for  they  are 
based  upon  the  supposition  that  the  United  States 
really  possess  a  body  of  native-born  seamen,  and  that 
our  ships  are  chiefly  manned  by  crews  whose  home 
is  on  our  own  shores.  It  is  unfortunately  the  fact, 
however,  that  not  one  in  ten  of  the  seamen  employed 
on  board  our  vessels  is  a  native-born  or  even  a 
naturalized  citizen,  or  has  any  connection  with  our 
country  beyond  his  engagement  for  the  voyage.  So 
far  as  my  observation  extends,  there  is  not  even  a 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.        155 

class  of  seamen  who  ship  exclusively  in  American 
vessels,  or  who  habitually  give  them  the  preference 
to  others.  While  the  present  voyage  lasts,  the  sailor 
is  an  American ;  in  the  next,  he  is  as  likely  to  be 
sailing  under  any  other  flag  as  our  own.  And  there 
is  still  another  aspect  of  the  subject  causing  a  yet 
wider  discrepancy  between  the  state  of  things  conr 
teraplated  by  the  law  and  that  actually  existing. 
This  lies  in  the  fact  that  many  of  the  men  shipped 
on  board  our  vessels,  comprising  much  the  larger 
portion  of  those  who  suffer  ill-usage,  are  not  seamen 
at  all.  Almost  every  ship,  on  her  trip  from  New 
York  to  Liverpool,  brings  a  number  of  returning  emi 
grants,  wholly  unacquainted  with  the  sea  and  inca 
pable  of  performing  the  duties  of  seamen,  but  who 
have  shipped  for  the  purpose  merely  of  accomplish 
ing  their  homeward  passage.  On  this  latter  class  of 
men  falls  most  of  the  cruelty  and  severity  which  have 
drawn  public  notice  and  reprobation  on  our  mercan 
tile  marine.  It  is  a  result,  not,  as  one  would  naturally 
suppose,  of  systematic  tyranny  on  the  part  of  the 
constituted  authorities  of  the  ship,  but  of  a  state  of 
war  between  two  classes  who  find  themselves  for  a 
period  inextricably  opposed  on  shipboard.  One  of 
these  classes  is  composed  of  the  mates  and  actual 
seamen,  who  are  adequate  to  the  performance  of  their 
own  duty,  and  demand  a  similar  efficiency  in  others ; 
the  second  class  consists  of  men  who  know  nothing 
of  the  sea,  but  who  have  imposed  themselves  or  been 
imposed  upon  the  ship,  as  capable  of  a  seaman's  duty. 


156  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

This  deception,  as  it  increases  the  toil  and  hardship 
of  the  real  sailor,  draws  his  vengeance  upon  the  un 
fortunate  impostor.  In  the  worst  case  'investigated 
by  me,  it  appeared  that  there  was  not  one  of  the 
sailor  class,  from  the  second  mate  down  to  the  young 
est  boy,  who  had  not  more  or  less  maltreated  the 
landsmen.  In  another  case,  the  chief  and  second 
mate,  during  the  illness  of  the  master,  so  maltreated 
a  landsman,  who  had  shipped  as  sailor,  that  he  after 
wards  died  in  a  fit.  In  scarcely  a  single  instance  has 
it  been  possible  to  implicate  the  master  as  taking  a 
share  in  these  unjustifiable  proceedings.  In  both  the 
cases  above  alluded  to,  the  guilty  escaped  punishment ; 
and  in  many  similar  ones  it  has  been  found  that  the 
sufferers  are  practically  without  protection  or  redress. 
A  few  remarks  will  make  this  fact  obvious. 

A  consul,  as  I  need  not  inform  the  Department, 
has  no  power  (nor  could  he  have  unless  by  treaty 
with  the  Government  in  whose  territory  he  resides) 
to  inflict  condign  punishment  for  assaults  and  other 
outrages  which  may  come  under  his  official  cognizance. 
The  extent  of  his  power  —  except  in  a  contingency 
hereafter  to  be  noticed  —  is  to  enable  a  complainant 
to  seek  justice  in  our  own  courts  of  law.  If  the 
United  States  really  possessed  any  native  seamen, 
this  might  be  effectual  so  far  as  they  were  concerned ; 
for  such  seamen  would  naturally  gravitate  homeward, 
and  would  there  meet  the  persons  who  had  outraged 
them  under  circumstances  which  would  insure  redress. 
But  the  foreigner  can  very  seldom  be  prevailed  upon 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.        157 

to  return  for  the  mere  purpose  of  prosecuting  his 
officers ;  and  with  the  returning  emigrant,  who  has 
suffered  so  much  for  the  sake  of  obtaining  a  home 
ward  passage,  it  is  out  of  the  question.  In  such  cases 
what  is  the  consul  to  do  ?  Before  the  complainants 
make  their  appeal  to  him,  they  have  ceased  to  be 
under  the  jurisdiction  of  his  country;  and  they  refuse 
to  return  to  it  in  quest  of  a  revenge  which  they  cannot 
be  secure  of  obtaining,  and  which  would  benefit  them 
little  if  obtained.  The  perpetrators  of  these  outrages 
are  not  men  who  can  be  made  pecuniarily  responsible, 
being  almost  invariably,  as  I  have  said,  the  lower 
officers  and  able  seamen  of  the  ship.  In  cases  of 
unjustifiably  severe  usage,  if  the  master  of  the  vessel 
be  found  implicated  in  the  offence,  the  consul  has  it 
at  his  option  to  order  the  discharge  of  the  sufferer 
with  the  payment  of  three  months'  extra  wages.  But 
the  instances  of  cruel  treatment  which  have  come 
under  my  notice  are  not  of  the  kind  contemplated 
by  the  act  of  1840;  not  being  the  effect  of  the 
tyranny  or  bad  passions  of  the  master,  or  of  officers 
acting  under  his  authority,  but,  as  already  stated,  of 
the  hostile  interests  of  two  classes  of  the  crew.  To 
prevent  these  disorders  would  require  the  authority 
and  influence  of  abler  men,  and  of  a  higher  stamp, 
than  American  shipmasters  are  now  found  to  be.  In 
very  difficult  circumstances,  and  having  a  vast  respon 
sibility  of  life  and  property  upon  their  hands,  they 
appear  to  me  to  do  their  best,  with  such  materials  as 
are  at  their  command.  So  far  as  they  lay  themselves 


158  HA  WTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

open  to  the  law,  I  have  been  ready  to  inflict  it,  but 
have  found  few  opportunities.  Thus  a  great  mass  of 
petty  outrage,  unjustifiable  assaults,  shameful  indig 
nities,  and  nameless  cruelty,  demoralizing  alike  to 
those  who  perpetrate  and  to  those  who  suffer,  falls 
into  the  ocean  between  the  two  countries,  and  can 
be  punished  in  neither.  Such  a  state  of  things,  as  it 
can  be  met  by  no  law  now  in  existence,  would  seeni 
to  require  new  legislation. 

I  have  not  failed  to  draw  the  attention  of  the  Gov 
ernment  to  this  subject  on  several  former  occasions. 
Nor  has  it  been  denied  by  the  last  Administration 
that  our  laws  in  this  regard  were  defective  and 
required  revision.  But  the  extent  of  those  acknowl 
edged  defects  and  of  that  necessary  revision  was 
alleged  as  a  reason  why  no  partial  measures  should 
be  adopted.  The  importance  of  the  matter,  as  em 
bracing  the  whole  condition  of  our  mercantile  marine, 
cannot  be  overestimated.  It  is  not  an  exaggeration  to 
say  that  the  United  States  have  no  seamen.  Even 
the  officers,  from  the  mate  downward,  are  usually  for 
eigners,  and  of  a  very  poor  class  ;  being  the  rejected 
mates  and  other  subordinates  of  the  British  commer 
cial  navy.  Men  who  have  failed  to  pass  their  exami 
nations,  or  have  been  deprived  of  their  certificates  by 
reason  of  drunkenness  or  other  ill  conduct,  attain,  on 
board  of  our  noble  ships,  the  posts  for  which  they 
are  deemed  unworthy  in  their  own.  On  the  deterio 
ration  of  this  class  of  men  necessarily  follows  that 
of  the  masters,  who  are  promoted  from  it.  I  deeply 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.       159 

regret  to  say,  that  the  character  of  American  ship 
masters  has  already  descended,  many  degrees,  from 
the  high  standard  which  it  held  in  years  past, — an  ef 
fect  partly  due,  as  I  have  just  hinted,  to  the  constantly 
narrowing  field  of  selection,  and  likewise,  in  a  great 
degree,  to  the  terrible  life  which  a  shipmaster  is  now 
forced  to  lead.  Respectable  men  are  anxious  to  quit 
a  service  which  links  them  with  such  comrades,  loads 
them  with  such  responsibility,  and  necessitates  such 
modes  of  meeting  it.  In  making  this  communica 
tion  to  the  Department,  I  have  deemed  it  my  duty 
to  speak  with  all  possible  plainness,  believing  that 
you  will  agree  with  me  that  official  ceremony  is  of 
little  importance  in  view  of  such  a  national  emer 
gency  as  is  here  presented.  If  there  be  an  interest 
which  requires  the  intervention  of  Government  with 
all  its  wisdom  and  all  its  power,  —  and  with  more 
promptitude  than  Governments  usually  display,  —  it 
is  this.  The  only  efficient  remedy,  it  appears  to  me, 
must  be  found  in  the  creation  of  a  class  of  native 
seamen ;  but,  in  the  years  that  must  elapse  before 
that  can  be  effected,  it  is  most  desirable  that  Govern 
ment  should  at  least  recognize  the  evils  that  exist, 
and  do  its  utmost  to  alleviate  them.  No  American 
statesman,  being  in  the  position  which  makes  it  his 
especial  duty  to  comprehend  and  deal  with  this  mat 
ter,  can  neglect  it  without  peril  to  his  fame.  It  is  a 
subject  which  requires  only  to  be  adequately  repre 
sented  in  order  to  attract  the  deepest  interest  on  the 
part  of  the  public  ;  and  the  now  wasted  or  destruc- 


160  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

tive  energy   of  our  philanthropists  might  here   be 
most  beneficially  employed. 

In  conclusion,  I  beg  leave  to  say  a  few  words  on 
the  personal  bearing  which  the  Secretary's  supposed 
letter  has  upon  my  own  official  character.  The  letter 
expresses  the  opinion  that  the  laws  of  the  United 
States  are  adequate  to  the  protection  of  our  seamen, 
and  adds  that  the  execution  of  these  laws  devolves 
mostly  on  consuls ;  some  of  whom,  it  suggests,  in 
British  ports,  may  have  been  "  delinquent  in  the  dis 
charge  of  their  duty."  Now  it  is  undeniable  that 
outrages  on  board  of  our  ships  have  actually  occurred ; 
and  it  is  equally  well  known,  and  I  myself  hereby 
testify,  that  the  majority  of  these  outrages  pass  with 
out  any  punishment  whatever.  Most  of  them,  more 
over,  in  the  trade  between  America  and  England, 
have  come  under  my  own  consular  supervision,  and 
been  fully  investigated  by  me.  If  I  have  possessed 
the  power  to  punish  these  offences,  and,  whether 
through  sluggishness  or  fear  or  favor,  have  failed 
to  exercise  it,  then  I  am  guilty  of  a  great  crime, 
which  ought  to  be  visited  with  a  severity  and  ai) 
ignominy  commensurate  with  its  evil  consequences ; 
and  those,  surely,  would  be  nothing  less  than  na 
tional.  If  I  am  innocent,  —  if  I  have  done  my 
utmost,  as  an  executive  officer,  under  a  defective 
law,  to  the  defects  of  which  I  have  repeatedly  called 
the  attention  of  my  superiors,  —  then,  unquestion 
ably,  the  Secretary  has  wronged  me  by  a  suggestion 
pointing  so  directly  at  myself.  It  trenches  upon  one 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.        161 

of  the  few  rights,  as  a  citizen  and  as  a  man,  which 
an  office-holder  might  imagine  himself  to  retain.  I 
leave  the  matter  with  the  Department.  It  is  pecu 
liarly  unfortunate  for  me  that  my  resignation  is  al 
ready  in  the  hands  of  the  President;  for,  going  out 
of  office  under  this  stigma,  I  foresee  that  I  shall  be 
supposed  to  have  committed  official  suicide,  as  the 
only  mode  of  escaping  some  worse  fate.  Whether  it 
is  right  that  an  honorable  and  conscientious  discharge 
of  duty  should  be  rewarded  by  loss  of  character,  I 
leave  to  the  wisdom  and  justice  of  the  Department  to 
decide.  I  am,  sir,  most  respectfully, 
Your  obedient  servant, 

NATH.  HAWTHORNE. 

GEN.  LEWIS  CASS,  SECRETARY  OF  STATE, 
WASHINGTON,  D.  C. 

—  The  General's  reply  is  given  below  :  — 

DEPARTMENT  OF  STATE,  WASHINGTON,  Sept.  24,  1857. 
NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE,  Esq.,  Consul,  Liverpool. 

SIR,  —  Your  despatch,  No.  90,  of  the  17th  of  June 
last,  upon  the  maltreatment  of  seamen  on  board  ves 
sels  of  the  United  States,  was  duly  received.  The 
note  to  Lord  Napier,  which  accompanied  it,  was  cor 
rectly  published  in  the  English  journals,  but  without 
the  previous  knowledge  or  consent  of  this  Depart 
ment.  You  seem  to  suppose  that  some  of  its  expres 
sions  may  have  been  intended  to  charge  you  with 
delinquency  in  your  official  duties  towards  seamen. 
No  such  intention,  however,  was  entertained ;  and 

VOL.  II.  11 


162  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

now  that  you  are  about  to  retire  from  your  position, 
I  am  happy  to  bear  testimony  to  the  prudent  and 
efficient  manner  in  which  you  have  discharged  your 
duties.  I  owe  it  to  myself,  however,  to  add  that  I 
perceive  nothing  in  the  letter  to  Lord  Napier  which 
justifies  the  construction  you  have  placed  on  it.  On 
the  contrary,  while  it  admits  that  some  delinquency, 
on  the  part  of  our  Consuls,  in  executing  the  laws  of 
the  United  States  concerning  seamen,  is  not  abso 
lutely  impossible,  it  expressly  disclaims  all  knowledge 
of  such  delinquency;  and  where  offenders  have  es 
caped  punishment,  it  attributes  the  escape  to  causes 
over  which  our  Consuls  could  exercise  no  control. 
What  you  say  with  regard  to  the  evils  that  afflict  our 
commercial  marine,  it  is  not  now  necessary  to  con 
sider  ;  but  you  quite  misapprehend  my  views  if  you 
suppose  that  I  am  insensible  to  the  magnitude  of 
these  evils,  or  could  have  ever  intended  to  deny  their 
existence.  I  concur  with  you  in  opinion,  however, 
that  they  are  not  so  much  chargeable  to  defective 
laws  as  to  the  want  of  that  very  class  of  persons 
whom  the  laws  were  made  to  protect.  While,  there 
fore,  our  statutes  may  be,  and  probably  are,  as  well 
adapted  to  their  objects  as  those  of  any  other  country, 
it  is  none  the  less  true  that  our  merchant  service  suf 
fers  constantly  from  the  want  of  American  seamen. 
How  this  want  can  be  supplied,  is  a  question  to 
which,  in  my  note  to  Lord  Napier,  it  was  not  my 
purpose  to  reply.  I  am,  sir, 

Your  obedient  servant,         LEWIS  CASS. 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.       163 

—  Of  the  same  date  is  the  subjoined  communication, 
accepting  Hawthorne's  resignation  :  — 

• 

DEPARTMENT  OF  STATE,  WASHINGTON",  Sept.  24,  1857. 
NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE,  Esq.,  U.  S.  Consul,  Liverpool. 

SIR,  —  I  have  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  your 
despatches  to  No.  95,  inclusive,  with  their  respective 
enclosures.  In  transmitting  the  enclosed  communi 
cation,  in  which  you  are  requested  to  deliver  the 
Archives  of  the  Consulate  at  Liverpool  to  Mr.  Bev 
erly  Tucker,  the  gentleman  appointed  by  the  Pres 
ident  to  be  your  successor,  it  gives  the  Department 
pleasure,  on  your  voluntary  retirement,  to  express  its 
acknowledgments  for  the  valuable  information  and  sug 
gestions  relative  to  our  commercial  interests,  which 
you  have,  from  time  to  time,  communicated,  and  to 
assure  you  of  its  satisfaction  with  the  manner  in  which 
you  have  discharged  the  laborious  and  responsible 
duties  of  the  office. 

I  am,  sir,  your  obedient  servant, 

LEWIS  CA.SS. 

—  The  next  two  letters  are  from  Henry  Wilding, 
the  head  clerk  of  the  Consulate,  and  Hawthorne's 
faithful  friend  and  assistant  during  his  incumbency. 
They  refer  to  details  connected  with  the  office,  and 
incidentally  illustrate  the  spirit  in  which  such  things 
were  conducted  by  the  Foreign  Office  of  that  day : 

LIVERPOOL,  May  5,  1858. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  It  required  a  search  through  the 
books,  to  find  the  names  of  the  persons  for  whom  the 


164  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

unclaimed  wages  were  paid,  before  I  could  answer 
your  letter.  I  have  been  slow  in  doing  it,  as  my 
health  is  still  too  precarious  to  admit  of  my  working 
in  the  evening  unless  the  need  were  very  pressing. 
I  now  enclose  a  statement  of  the  amount,  and  the 
names,  which  should  be  signed  by  you  and  sent  to 
the  fifth  Auditor  when  you  pay  the  money  to  Barings, 
when  receipt  should  also  be  forwarded.  There  have 
been  two  letters  about  the  disbursement  accounts, 
one  informing  you  that  you  had  overdrawn  for  some 
three  dollars  against  the  account  to  September,  1856. 
You  may  remember  this  was  drawn  for  while  I  was 
away,  and  it  was  found  that  only  one  part  of  the  ac 
count  had  been  drawn  for,  and  neither  yourself  nor 
Mr.  Pearce  nor  Mr.  Shaw  could  tell  what  exchange 
had  been  drawn  at ;  we  drew  for  the  rest  of  the  ac 
count,  leaving  the  exchange  unsettled.  No  doubt 
the  three  dollars  is  the  difference  of  exchange.  The 
other  letter  was  to  say  that  the  accounts  (disburse 
ment  to  June  30,  1857)  had  been  adjusted,  and  that 
the  amount  charged  for  loss  of  exchange  had  been 
suspended,  as  there  was  no  proof  of  your  having  act 
ually  sustained  the  loss  on  selling  your  drafts.  I 
have  been  in  communication  with  Baring,  who  in 
formed  me  that  you  did  not  sell  them  your  drafts,  but 
only  sent  them  out  for  collection ;  but  they  have  fur 
nished  me  with  a  statement  which  I  think  must  sat 
isfy  the  very  particular  Comptroller.  I  will  forward 
it  from  here  to  Washington.  A  letter  also  informs 
me  that  your  draft  for  office-rent  has  been  paid,  but 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.       165 

that  the  amount  has  been  placed  against  you  in  the 
books  of  the  Treasury  "  until  you  furnish  vouchers." 
What  will  you  do  ?  I  have  obtained  a  voucher  for 
what  you  actually  paid,  including  rate,  and  enclose 
amended  account  for  your  signature,  if  you  should 
determine  to  claim  the  amount,  whicli  I  certainly 
should  do.  The  amount  drawn  for  was  the  full  ten 
per  cent,  amounting  to  $583.56.  Of  the  accounts  for 
fees  there  is  not  a  word.  I  hope  their  silence  means 
assent.  I  should  think  if  they  are  not  satisfied  about 
the  protest  money  they  would  have  written  before 
this.  However,  I  will  write  to  you  if  I  hear  any 
thing.  There  is  a  bill  before  the  Senate  to  amend 
the  Consular  Law.  I  don't  know  the  provisions,  but 
I  believe  an  attempt  is  being  made  to  allow  clerk- 
hire.  Pity  they  can't  make  that  retrospective  !  We 
have  still  the  regular  succession  of  complaints,  —  bru 
tal  officers  and  vicious  sailors,  suffering  and  misery 
before  us  all  day,  and  not  to  be  forgotten  at  night. 
Yours  truly, 

H.  WILDING. 

U.  S.  CONSULATE,  Nov.  14,  1861. 

DEAR  Sin,  —  The  enclosed  letter  to  you  was  re 
ceived  here  three  months  since.  While  you  were  in 
Italy,  letters  were  received  informing  you  that  the 
sums  charged  in  your  accounts  for  losses  of  exchange 
were  disallowed  for  want  of  vouchers.  On  com 
municating  with  Barings,  it  appeared  that  you  had 
not  sold  your  drafts  to  them,  but  only  left  them 
with  them  for  collection.  I  got  such  certificates 


166  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

from  them  as  they  were  willing  to  sign,  and  wrote 
to    the    Comptroller,   showing    him    that    although 
you  had  not  sustained   such  loss  in  a  literal  sense, 
you  had  practically  in  the  shape  of  interest  commis 
sions,  etc.     I  heard  no  more  of  it,  and  supposed  the 
matter  settled.     From  this  letter  of  the  8th  inst.  it 
appears  that  the  certificates  and  explanation  were 
accepted  as  to  part  of  the  amount  only ;  why  they 
were  not  for  the  rest,  I  cannot  imagine.     At  this  dis 
tance  of  time  it  is  difficult  to  get  at  the  accounts  and 
vouchers  among  the   mass   of  dusty  accumulations, 
and   one's  memory  affords   but  little    help.      I    am 
therefore  unable  to  ascertain  the  nature  of  all  the 
items  making  up  the  $189.41,  but  believe  they  were 
all  losses  by  exchange.     I  have  found  the  vouchers 
for  the  $5.80,  copies  of  which  were  ordered  sent  with 
the  accounts.     If  you  send  these  to  the  Comptroller 
he  will  have  that  amount  brought  to  your  credit,  but 
I  fear  you  will  have  to  submit  to  the  loss  of  the  re 
mainder,  unless  you  can  attack  the  present  Comp 
troller  more  successfully  than  I  did  the  other.     It  is 
a  manifest  injustice,  as  of  course  you  had  to  pay  Bar 
ing's  commissions  for  collecting  the  drafts,  and  interest 
on  the  money  advanced  to  pay  the  accounts.  ...  I 
am  still  at  the  Consulate,  battling  with  hard  captains 
and  sailors,  —  struggling  to  do  right  amid  threats  and 
discouragements,  when  the  truth  is  hard  to  find. 

With  best  wishes  and  affectionate  regards  to  you 
all, 

HENRY  WILDING. 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.        167 

—  The  last  letter  received  before  leaving  Eng 
land  was  this  cordial  one  from,  the  Eev.  W.  H. 
Channing :  — 

7  MONTPELIER  TERRACE,  UPPER  PARLIAMENT  ST., 
Dee.  29,  1857. 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  HAWTHORNE, — Your  most  welcome 
note  reached  me  this  morning ;  and  I  at  once  reply,  to 
tell  you  how  rejoiced  we  all  are  that  the  communica 
tion  between  us  is  again  opened.  For  I  have  felt  as 
if  the  cable  had  snapped  in  the  salt  seas,  and  no  mes 
sage  more  might  pass.  What  had  become  of  you  all 
we  could  not  discover,  and  so  fancied  you  as  enjoying 
yourselves  amid  the  gay  splendors  of  Paris  and  the 
sunny  scenes  of  Florence  and  Home.  But  last  week, 
one  day,  I  met  Mr.  Wilding, — having  called  before 
at  the  office  when  he  was  ill,  —  and  then  learned 
with  astonishment  and  sorrow  that  you  were  still  in 
England,  arid  that  you  had  all  been  suffering  from 
measles.  How  very  sad  your  experience  had  been, 
however,  I  had  no  conception  till  your  note  arrived. 
Thank  Heaven,  the  worst  seems  past.  Please  let  me 
know  your  future  movements,  and  your  direction  for 
the  ensuing  months ;  for  we  must  not  let  the  cable 
break  again  if  we  can  help  it. 

Since  I  saw  you  I  have  made  three  charming  trips, 
—  to  Wales,  Devonshire,  and  Yorkshire.  The  last 
was  especially  interesting,  as  I  visited  Haworth  and 
Bolton  Priory.  The  -day  was  dreary  in  extreme,  with 
gloomy  fog  half  veiling  the  mysterious  hills,  which, 
resting  on  their  folded  arms,  bowed  solemnly  as  we 


168  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

swept  by.  Not  a  breath  of  wind  was  stirring;  all 
was  still,  as  if  in  sleep.  As  I  stood  on  the  doorstep 
of  the  parsonage,  and  gazed  into  the  narrow  garden 
enclosure,  which  separates  the  house  from  the  deso 
late  graveyard,  with  its  green  mounds  and  mossy 
monuments,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  black  gnarled 
shrubbery,  and  the  dank,  brown  flower-beds,  where 
the  wilted  stalks  hung  heavy  with  the  wet,  won 
derfully  symbolized  dear  Charlotte  Bronte's  sorrows. 
And  seeing  the  scene  in  its  hour  of  desolation,  it  was 
easy  to  fancy  the  sunbursts  and  wild  breezes  from 
the  heathery  moorland,  and  the  spotless,  snowy 
moonlights.  .  .  . 

And  so,  with  cordial  and  affectionate  greetings  to 
one  and  all  of  you,  from  each  and  all  of  us,  I  am 
Yours  faithfully, 

W.  H.  C BANNING. 

Happy  New  Year ! 

—  On  the  eve  of  embarking,  Hawthorne  deliv 
ered  his  English  journals  into  the  keeping  of  his 
friend,  Henry  Bright,  with  the  accompanying  little 
note :  — 

DEAR  MR.  BRIGHT,  —  Here  are  these  journals.  If 
unreclaimed  by  myself,  or  by  my  heirs  or  assigns,  I 
consent  to  your  breaking  the  seals  in  the  year  1900, 
—  not  a  day  sooner.  By  that  time,  probably,  Eng 
land  will  be  a  minor  republic,  under  the  protection  of 
the  United  States.  If  my  countrymen  of  that  day 


EIGHTEEN  MONTHS  BEFORE  ROME.        169 

partake  in  the  least  of  my  feelings,  they  will  treat 
you  generously. 

Your  friend,  NATH.  HAWTHORNE. 

—  On  the  3d  of  January,  a  gloomy  and  wintry 
day,  we  took  the  train  to  Folkestone,  and  two  days 
later  arrived  in  Paris. 


OTIYEBSIT 


170  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 


CHAPTER  V. 
DONATI'S  COMET. 

IT  might  be  said,  from  one  point  of  view,  that 
Hawthorne  was  better  satisfied  with  Italy  than  with 
England ;  the  reason  being  that  he  cared  for  it  and 
sympathized  with  it  less.  One  is  apt  to  be  a  more 
severe  critic  of  one's  blood  relations  than  of  strangers; 
and  the  characteristics  of  a  remote  antiquity  touch 
our  hearts  less  than  those  of  a  comparatively  recent 
past,  wherein,  perhaps,  inhere  some  roots  of  our  own. 
Hawthorne's  attitude  towards  England  was  that  of  a 
descendant  jealous  of  his  ancestor's  honor;  nothing 
in  her  less  good  than  the  best  would  satisfy  him. 
Upon  Italy,  however,  his  eyes  rested  with  no  deeper 
sentiment  than  belongs  to  a  respectful  and  intel 
ligent  curiosity.  He  had  no  personal  stake  in  the 
matter;  whatever  faults  or  perfections  Italy  might 
possess,  were  merely  phenomenal  to  him,  not  vital. 
The  Italian  genius  had  no  affiliations  with  his  own; 
it  was  objective  to  his  mind, — something  to  examine 
into  and  speculate  about,  not  intuitively  to  appre 
hend.  The  Italian  people  might  be  what  they  chose 
and  do  as  they  liked ;  his  equanimity  would  remain 
undisturbed.  But  he  could  not  be  equally  tranquil 


DONATPS  COMET.  171 

in  the  contemplation  of  any  English  shortcomings  or 
perversities. 

In  process  of  time,  it  is  true,  he  conceived  an  affec 
tion  for  Italy,  or,  to  speak  more  precisely,  for  Borne. 
But  it  was  an  entirely  aesthetic  affection,  such  as  may 
be  aroused  by  beautiful  statues  and  pictures,  by  mu 
sic,  blue  skies,  and  gentle  atmosphere.  It  resembled 
the  delight  that  one  feels  in  poetry,  in  romance,  in 
the  aroma  of  a  mighty  and  splendid  civilization  long 
since  passed  away.  It  was  such  an  affection  as  gives 
pleasure,  but  is  not  profound  enough  to  give  pain ; 
able  to  soothe  the  heart,  but  impotent  to  break  it. 
Hawthorne  has  given  full  expression  to  his  feeling 
for  Italy  in  the  romance  the  scene  of  which  is  laid 
there ;  and  in  his  case  the  feeling  happened  to  be 
deepened  by  the  poignant  anxiety  and  suffering  which 
he  underwent  for  many  months,  in  Eome,  by  reason 
of  the  dangerous  illness  of  his  eldest  daughter.  This 
personal  emotion,  associated  with  the  region  in  which 
it  had  come  upon  him,  engrafted  upon  his  merely 
Eoman  thoughts  a  tenderer  and  more  sacred  senti 
ment.  It  inspired  in  him  a  sort  of  dread,  and  even 
hatred,  of  the  Eternal  City ;  yet,  having  said  farewell 
to  it,  he  looked  back  to  it  with  something  of  the 
yearning  which  one  feels  for  a  beloved  grave. 

The  "  Italian  Note-Books,"  and  "  The  Romance  of 
Monte-Beni "  —  which  is  perhaps  the  most  widely 
read  of  all  Hawthorne's  works,  owing  to  its  extensive 
circulation  in  Eome  in  the  Tauchnitz  edition  — 
have  made  the  public  better  acquainted  with  this 


172  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

period  of  the  author's  life  than  with  any  other.  It 
was,  for  the  most  part,  a  period  of  much  quiet  happi 
ness.  The  annoyances  and  restrictions  of  office  had 
been  laid  aside  forever,  and  there  was  nothing  to  do 
but  to  contemplate  and  enjoy.  Hawthorne  had,  from 
his  youth,  been  deeply  read  in  the  ancient  and  me 
diaeval  history  of  Italy;  and  shortly  before  leaving 
England,  he  had  caused  his  children  to  study  Grote 
and  Gibbon,  and  to  learn  by  heart  Macaulay's  "  Lays 
of  Ancient  Kome."  Mrs.  Hawthorne  possessed,  in 
addition  to  this,  no  little  practical  knowledge  of  clas 
sic  and  Italian  art,  and  an  almost  inexhaustible  ca 
pacity  for  seeing  and  appreciating  such  masterpieces 
as  Italy  overflows  with.  So  that,  upon  the  whole, 
the  party  was  fairly  well  prepared  for  what  was  be 
fore  them.  It  was  the  first  complete  holiday  that 
Hawthorne  had  yet  had ;  he  was,  as  he  expressed  it, 
no  longer  a  servant  but  a  sovereign,  and  looked  down 
"  even  upon  the  President."  The  people  whom  he 
was  destined  to  meet  with  during  his  Italian  resi 
dence  were  almost  all  Americans  of  the  better  class, 
with  two  or  three  of  whom  he  formed  lasting  friend 
ships;  and  his  mind,  having  thrown  aside  the  rights 
and  wrongs  of  American  seamen,  began  to  concen 
trate  itself  upon  the  idea  of  a  romance,  detached  frag 
ments  of  which  had  been  floating  in  his  brain  almost 
ever  since  his  arrival  in  England. 

Starting  early  in  January,  the  cold  weather  met  us 
at  Folkestone,  and  did  not  altogether  retreat  until  the 
ensuing  March.  The  means  of  getting  warm  were 


DON  ATI'S  COMET.  173 

imperfect  in  France,  and  wholly  deficient  in  Italy ; 
and  Hawthorne  frequently  alludes  to  the  discomfort 
which  this  constant  chilliness  occasioned.  "  This 
morning,"  he  writes  (Jan.  10),  "  Paris  looked  as 
black  as  London,  with  clouds  and  rain;  and  when 
we  issued  forth,  it  seemed  as  if  a  cold,  sullen  agony 
were  interposed  between  each  separate  atom  of  our 
bodies.  In  all  my  experience  of  bad  atmospheres, 
methinks  I  never  knew  anything  so  atrocious  as  this. 
England  has  nothing  to  be  compared  with  it."  And 
again:  "The  wicked  chill  of  the  air,  and  the  in 
creasing  rain,  now  compelled  us  to  set  out  homeward 
on  foot.  We  looked  anxiously  for  a  cab,  but  saw 
none ;  and  called  to  passing  omnibuses,  but  found 
them  all  full,  or  going  in  wrong  directions.  We  in 
vaded  the  little  shop  of  a  second-hand  bookseller  (a 
dirty  hole,  and  of  ill  odor);  and  stayed  there  a  consid 
erable  time,  hoping  for  some  means  of  escape;  but 
finally  had  to  plunge  forth  and  paddle  onward,  through 
rain  and  mud,  amid  this  old,  ugly,  and  dirty  quarter 
of  Paris,  till  we  reached  the  Arcade  along  the  Eue 
Ilivoli.  There  we  were  under  shelter  all  the  way  to 
the  Hotel." — The  only  warm  recollections  connected 
with  this  visit  to  Paris  are  of  the  great  eider-down 
bedquilts  in  the  hotel,  a  foot  thick,  covered  with 
crimson  silk  and  as  light  as  a  feather.  Ten  min 
utes  beneath  one  of  these  would  have  produced  a 
perspiration  in  Siberia. 

Before  leaving  Paris,  we  had  the  pleasure  of  mak 
ing  the  acquaintance  of  Miss  Maria   Mitchell,  the 


174  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

astronomer,  who  accompanied  .us  to  Rome,  and  was 
our  neighbor  during  the  greater  part  of  our  stay 
there.  There  was  a  simplicity  and  a  dry  humor 
about  this  lady  that  made  her  company  delightful 
and  consoling ;  as  if  a  bit  of  shrewd,  primitive,  kindly 
New  England  were  walking  and  talking  in  the  midst 
of  the  gray  antiquity  of  Europe.  Hawthorne  also 
called  upon  Judge  Mason,  the  American  Minister 
of  that  epoch,  who  was  just  at  the  end  of  his  official 
existence,  —  "a  fat-brained,  good-hearted,  sensible 
old  man.  I  fear  the  poor  gentleman  is  going  back, 
with  narrow  means,  to  seek  some  poor  office  at  home 
for  his  livelihood.  The  Secretary  of  Legation  is  a 
man  of  very  different  aspect  and  address  from  the 
Minister :  about  thirty  years  old,  dark-complexioned, 
with  a  black  mustache,  handsome,  with  a  cotirteous 
but  decided  air,  like  a  man  of  society  and  the  world. 
I  should  think  the  heavy  old  Judge  would  often  need 
some  spirit  more  alert  than  his  own.  On  the  whole, 
(though  I  am  sorry  for  him)  there  is  no  good  reason 
why  Uncle  Sam  should  pay  Judge  Mason  seventeen 
thousand  dollars  a  year  for  sleeping  in  the  dignified 
post  of  Ambassador  to  France.  The  true  ground  of 
complaint  is,  that,  whether  he  slept  or  waked,  the 
result  would  be  the  same." 

On  the  12th  of  January  we  left  Paris,  —  "a  very 
chill  morning,  and  the  rain  began  to  fall  as  we  left  the 
hotel,"  —  spent  that  night  at  the  HOtel  de  Provence 
in  Lyons,  arid  late  the  following  day  arrived  at  bleak 
and  windy  Marseilles.  Here  two  uncomfortable  days 


DONATFS  COMET.  175 

were  spent,  and  then  we  embarked  on  board  the 
steamer  "  Calabrese "  for  Civita  Vecchia.  The  sun 
shone  during  this  voyage,  and  at  night  the  stars  were 
brilliant ;  but  the  temperature  was  more  that  of  the 
North  Sea  than  of  the  Mediterranean.  We  stopped 
at  Genoa,  and  shivered  through  some  of  the  palaces 
and  churches  there;  and  again  at  Leghorn,  which 
was  uninteresting  as  well  as  ungenial ;  and  so  reached 
Civita  Yecchia,  the  forlornest  spot  of  all.  The  rail 
road  was  not  at  that  time  in  existence,  and  we  must 
travel  by  vettura.  The  road  was  reported  to  be  in 
fested  by  brigands;  and  as  the  journey  had  to  be 
performed  after  dark,  it  acquired  something  of  the 
character  of  an  adventure.  Fortunately  perhaps  for 
us,  the  mail-carriage  started  at  the  same  time  that 
we  did,  and  the  mail  officials  carried  arms.  But  our 
wretched  steeds  were  hard  put  to  it  to  keep  pace 
with  the  nimble  horses  of  the  Government;  and 
finally  they  gave  up  the  chase,  though  not  until  the 
more  dangerous  part  of  the  road  had  been  passed. 
Hawthorne  had  with  him  a  large  sum  of  money  in 
napoleons  ;  and  soon  after  starting  he  proceeded  to 
bestow  this  in  various  improbable  hiding-places, — 
I  remember  the  inside  of  an  old  umbrella  was  made 
the  repository  of  a  good  deal  of  it.  Hawthorne 
laughed  and  joked  while  making  these  arrangements; 
and  the  children  imbibed  the  notion  that  the  whole 
affair  was  a  game,  played  for  their  entertainment,  and 
that  the  brigands  were  as  mythical  as  the  giants  and 
enchanters  of  Spenser's  "  Faerie  Queene."  But,  once, 


176  HAWTHORN E  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

the  figures  of  two  men,  in  conical  hats,  and  each  with 
a  long  gun  in  his  hand,  appeared  outlined  against  the 
evening  sky  on  a  high  bank  beneath  which  we  drove. 
They  did  not  attempt  to  stop  us,  however,  and  we 
reached  the  gates  of  Home,  without  casualties,  some 
where  near  midnight,  in  a  cold,  sleety  rain-storm. 
The  hotel  that  received  us  was  only  a  degree  less 
chilly  and  dreary  than  the  street ;  and  none  of  the 
party  became  really  warm  for  a  month  or  more. 
Hawthorne  suffered  the  most,  having  caught  a  cold 
'before  leaving  Paris,  which  had  developed  into  a 
virulent  influenza.  He  sat  by  the  windy  and  win 
try  cavern  called  a  fireplace,  muffled  up  in  rugs  and 
great-coats,  and  seldom  ventured  outdoors  when  he 
could  help  it.  He  was  too  much  benumbed  even  to 
write  his  journal,  although,  as  he  remarks,  his  impres 
sions  during  the  first  fortnight  would  have  shown 
modern  Eorne  in  an  aspect  in  which  it  has  never  yet 
been  depicted.  A  suite  of  rooms  was  rented  in  No. 
37  Palazzo  Larazani,  Via  Porta  Pinciana ;  and  there 
we  waited  for  Italy  to  appear,  for  this  did  not  seem 
at  all  like  Italy.  "  Old  Eome,"  said  Hawthorne, 
"  lies  like  a  dead  and  mostly  decayed  corpse,  retain 
ing  here  and  there  a  trace  of  the  noble  shape  it  was, 
but  with  a  sort  of  fungous  growth  upon  it,  and  no  life 
but  of  the  worms  that  creep  in  and  out." 

A  few  sallies  were  made,  during  this  arctic  inter 
val,  to  acquire  some  idea  of  what  was  to  be  seen  here 
after  ;  but  without  very  promising  results.  Even  the 
St.  Petersburg  atmosphere  could  not  diminish  the 


DONATPS  COMET.  177 

grandeur  of  the  Coliseum ;  but  St.  Peter's  was,  at 
first,  a  disappointment  to  Hawthorne.  The  fountains 
in  the  Piazza  were  frozen  on  our  first  visit,  and  boys 
were  sliding  on  the  ice.  Of  the  church  he  says  :  "  It 
disappointed  me  terribly  by  its  want  of  effect,  and  the 
little  justice  it  does  to  its  real  magnitude,  externally ; 
but  the  interior  blazed  upon  rne  with  altogether  un 
expected  magnificence,  so  brilliant  is  it,  with  pictures, 
gilding,  variegated  and  polished  marbles,  and  all  that 
splendor  which  I  tried  in  vain  to  describe  in  the 
churches  of  Genoa.  I  had  expected  something  vast 
and  dim,  like  the  great  English  cathedrals,  only 
more  vast  and  dim  and  gray ;  but  there  is  as  much 
difference  as  between  noonday  and  twilight.  I  never 
saw  or  imagined  so  bright  and  splendid  an  interior 
as  that  of  this  immense  church  ;  but  I  am  not  sure 
that  it  would  not  be  more  grand  and  majestic  if  it 
were  less  magnificent,  though  I  should  be  sorry  to 
see  the  experiment  tried."  The  narrow  and  dirty 
streets,  with  their  uneven  pavements,  did  not  encour 
age  pedestrianism.  "  Along  these  lanes,  or  gullies,  a 
chill  wind  blows;  down  into  their  depths  the  sun 
never  falls ;  they  are  bestrewn  with  the  filth  of  the 
adjacent  houses,  which  rise  on  each  side  to  the  height 
of  five  or  six  stories,  generally  plastered  and  white 
washed,  and  looking  neither  old  nor  new.  Probably 
these  houses  have  the  brick  and  stone  of  old  Eome  in 
them,  —  of  the  Coliseum,  and  many  another  stately 
structure,  —  but  they  themselves  look  like  magnified 
hovels.  The  lower  regions  of  palaces  come  to  strange 

VOL.  II.  12 


178  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

uses  in  Rome :  a  cobbler  or  a  tinker  perhaps  exercises 
his  craft  under  the  archway;  a  cook-shop  may  be 
established  in  one  of  the  apartments;"  and  similar 
miscegenations. 

It  was  towards  St.  Peter's,  however,  that  Haw 
thorne  most  often  bent  his  steps  in  these  days, 
partly,  no  doubt,  because  its  temperature  had  none 
of  the  malignancy  of  the  outer  air,  or  even  of  other 
buildings ;  and  partly,  and  chiefly,  because  the  superb 
incarnation  of  religious  faith  which  it  presented  pow 
erfully  fascinated  him,  —  none  the  less  because  such 
an  incarnation  was  so  totally  opposed  to  every  re 
ligious  tradition  and  association  in  which  he  had 
been  educated.  He  has  given  expression  to  his 
thoughts  on  the  matter  in  the  description  of  Hilda's 
experience  with  the  confessional;  but  it  may  be 
worth  while  to  repeat  his  own  words,  untinged  by 
the  imaginative  element.  —  "  Saint  Peter's,"  he  says, 
"  offers  itself  as  a  place  of  worship  and  religious  com 
fort  for  the  whole  human  race;  and  in  one  of  the 
transepts  I  found  a  range  of  confessionals,  where  the 
penitent  might  tell  his  sins  in  the  tongue  of  his  own 
country,  whether  French,  German,  Polish,  English, 
or  what  not.  If  I  had  had  a  murder  on  my  con 
science,  or  any  other  great  sin,  I  think  I  should  have 
been  inclined  to  kneel  down  there,  and  pour  it  into 
the  safe  secrecy  of  the  confessional.  What  an  insti 
tution  that  is !  man  needs  it  so,  that  it  seems  as  if 
God  must  have  ordained  it.  The  popish  religion 
certainly  does  apply  itself  most  closely  and  comforta- 


DONATPS   COMET.  179 

bly  to  human  occasions ;  and  I  cannot  but  think  that 
a  great  many  people  find  their  spiritual  advantage  in 
it,  who  would  find  none  at  all  in  our  formless  mode 
of  worship.  You  cannot  think  it  all  a  farce  when 
you  see  peasant,  citizen,  and  soldier  coming  into  the 
church,  each  on  his  own  hook,  and  kneeling  for 
moments  or  for  hours,  directing  his  silent  devotions 
to  some  particular  shrine;  too  humble  to  approach 
his  God  directly,  and  therefore  seeking  the  media 
tion  of  some  saint  who  stands  beside  the  Infinite 
Presence." 

With  February  came  the  Carnival,  which  Haw 
thorne  conscientiously  inspected,  and  accepted  its 
liberties,  so  far  as  they  affected  himself,  with  great 
good  humor ;  but  he  would  scarcely  have  seen  so 
much  of  it  as  he  did,  but  for  the  obligation  imposed 
upon  him  by  his  children,  who,  of  course,  thought  it 
the  most  glorious  frolic  that  had  ever  been  devised. 
He  used  to  stroll  along  the  streets,  with  a  linen  dus 
ter  over  his  black  coat,  looking  at  everything,  and 
laughing  whenever  the  confetti  struck  him,  —  occa 
sionally,  too,  doing  vigorous  battle  himself  for  a 
minute  or  two;  and  if  the  weather  had  not  been 
so  discouraging,  he  might  have  entered  into  the 
affair  with  more  zeal,  but  as  it  was,  he  did  not  en 
joy  it  much.  "  The  festival,"  he  says,  "  seems  to 
have  sunk  from  the  upper  classes  to  the  lower  ones  ; 
and  probably  it.  is  only  kept  alive  by  tradition,  and 
the  curiosity  which  impels  foreigners  to  join  in  it. 
The  balconies  were  mostly  filled  with  ladies,  some  of 


180  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

whom  sat  nearly  on  a  level  with  the  passers-by,  in  full 
dress,  with  deep-colored  Italian  faces,  ready  to  en 
counter  whatever  the  chances  of  the  Carnival  might 
bring  them.  The  upper  balconies  (and  there  was 
sometimes  a  third,  if  not  a  fourth  tier)  were  occupied, 
I  think,  chiefly  by  English  or  Americans  ;  nor,  I 
fancy,  do  the  Eoman  ladies  of  rank  and  respectability 
generally  display  themselves  at  this  time.  The  con 
fetti  are  very  nasty  things,  resembling  sugar-plums 
as  the  apples  of  Sodom  do  better  fruit,  being  really 
made  up  of  lime  —  or  bad  flour  at  best  —  with  oats  or 
worthless  seeds  as  a  nucleus;  and  they  readily  crum 
ble  and  turn  to  dirty  dust,  making  the  hair  irrev 
erently  hoary,  and  giving  a  miller-like  aspect  to  hat 
and  clothes.  The  bouquets  were  composed  of  the 
most  ordinary  flowers,  and  were  miserably  wilted,  as 
if  they  had  served  two  or  three  carnival-days  already ; 
they  were  muddy,  too,  as  having  been  picked  up  from 
the  pavement.  Such  were  the  flowery  favors  —  the 
bunches  of  sentiment  —  that  flew  to  and  fro  along 
the  Corso,  from  lady  to  knight  and  back  again ;  and 
I  suppose  they  aptly  enough  symbolized  the  poor, 
battered,  wilted,  stained  hearts,  that  had  flown  from 
one  hand  to  another,  along  the  muddy  pathway  of 
life,  instead  of  being  treasured  in  one  faithful  bosom. 
Eeally,  it  was  great  nonsense.  There  were  some 
queer  shapes  and  faces,  —  clowns,  harlequins,  apes' 
snouts,  young  men  in  feminine  guise,  and  vice  versa, 
and  several  samples  of  Italian  costume;  but  either 
the  masques  were  not  very  funny,  or  I  was  not  in  a 


DONATl'S  COMET.  181 

funny  mood,  —  there  was  little  or  nothing  to  laugh  at. 
Upon  my  honor,  I  never  in  my  life  knew  a  shallower 
joke  than  the  Carnival  at  Borne  ;  and  such  a  rainy 
and  muddy  day,  too  !  Greenwich  Fair  was  worth  a 
hundred  of  it.  I  could  not  make  it  out  to  be  the 
Boman's  festival,  or  anybody's  festival.  It  was  cu 
rious,  however,  to  see  how  safely  the  Corso  was 
guarded;  a  strong  patrol  of  the  Papal  Dragoons,  in 
steel  helmets  and  white  cloaks,  were  stationed  at  the 
street  corners,  and  rode  up  and  down  the  thorough 
fare  singly  or  in  a  body.  Detachments  of  the  French 
troops  stood  by  their  stacked  muskets  in  the  Piazza 
del  Popolo,  and  at  the  other  end  of  the  Corso ;  and 
if  the  chained  tiger-cat  (meaning  thereby  the  Eoman 
populace)  had  but  shown  the  tips  of  its  claws,  the 
bullets  would  have  been  flying  along  the  street.  But 
the  tiger-cat  is  a  harmless  brute.'''  —  Hawthorne  has 
drawn  upon  these  notes  in  the  description  of  the 
Carnival  which  appears  in  "  The  Marble  Faun  ; "  but 
he  also  does  fuller  justice,  there,  to  the  attractive 
features  of  the  spectacle. 

One  of  the  first  calls  that  Hawthorne  made  in 
Borne  was  upon  William  Story,  whom  he  had  met,  as 
a  young  man,  in  America,  and  who  now  contributed 
not  a  little  towards  bringing  hi  in  acquainted  with 
what  was  worth  seeing  and  knowing  in  Borne,  and 
towards  his  general  enjoyment.  Hawthorne  often 
talked  and  walked  with  him,  and  admired  cordially 
the  sculptor's  own  work,  — the  statue  of  "  Cleopatra  " 
had  been  just  begun ;  and  I  remember  Story's  speak- 


182  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

ing  to  Hawthorne  about  another  classic  subject  he 
had  in  contemplation,  —  a  figure  of  the  Emperor 
Nero,  as  he  lies  in  hiding,  listening  for  the  steps  of 
his  approaching  executioners,  and  trying  to  screw  up 
his  courage  to  cut  his  own  throat.  It  was  Story,  I 
think,  who  introduced  Hawthorne  to  Miss  Lander, 
who  wished  to  make  a  bust  of  him.  He  gave  her 
sittings,  accordingly ;  and  took  her  portrait  while  she 
took  his.  "  Miss  Lander,"  he  says,  "  is  from  my  own 
native  town,  and  appears  to  have  genuine  talent,  and 
spirit  and  independence  enough  to  give  it  fair  play. 
She  is  living  here  quite  alone,  in  delightful  freedom, 
and  has  sculptured  two  or  three  things  that  may 
make  her  favorably  known.  '  Virginia  Dare '  is  cer 
tainly  very  beautiful.  During  the  sitting  I  talked  a 
good  deal  with  Miss  Lander,  being  a  little  inclined 
to  take  a  similar  freedom  with  her  moral  likeness  to 
that  which  she  was  taking  with  my  physical  one. 
There  are  very  available  points  about  her  and  her 
position :  a  young  woman,  living  in  almost  perfect 
independence,  thousands  of  miles  from  her  New  Eng 
land  home,  going  fearlessly  about  these  mysterious 
streets,  by  night  as  well  as  by  day ;  with  no  house 
hold  ties,  nor  rule  or  law  but  that  within  her;  yet 
acting  with  quietness  and  simplicity,  and  keeping, 
after  all,  within  a  homely  line  of  right.  In  her 
studio  she  wears  a  sort  of  pea-jacket,  buttoned  across 
her  breast,  and  a  little  foraging-cap,  just  covering  the 
top  of  her  head.  She  has  become  strongly  attached 
to  Rome,  and  says  that  when  she  dreams  of  home,  it 


DON  ATP  S  COMET.  183 

is  merely  of  paying  a  short  visit,  and  coming  back 
before  her  trunk  is  unpacked."  —  The  bust,  which 
was  a  tolerable  likeness  in  the  clay,  was  put  into 
marble  in  due  course.  But  while  it  was  undergoing 
this  process,  a  mishap  befell  it.  A  gentleman  —  I 
will  not  mention  his  name,  but  he  was  an  American 
and  a  person  of  culture  —  happened  to  be  in  Rome 
at  the  time  the  marble  work  was  proceeding  (of 
course  under  the  hands  of  the  regular  workmen  em 
ployed  by  sculptors  for  that  purpose,  and  whose  only 
business  it  is  to  reproduce  accurately  the  model 
placed  before  them).  Hawthorne  and  Miss  Lander 
were  both  absent  from  Rome ;  and  this  critic,  visiting 
the  studio,  noticed  what  he  thought  were  some  errors 
in  the  modelling  of  the  lower  part  of  the  face,  and  di 
rected  the  marble-cutters  to  make  certain  alterations, 
for  which,  he  accepted  the  responsibility.  The  result 
was,  as  might  have  been  expected,  that  the  likeness 
was  destroyed;  and  the  bust,  in  its  present  state, 
looks  like  a  combination  of  Daniel  Webster  and 
George  Washington,  —  as  any  one  may  see  who  pays 
a  visit  to  the  Concord  Library,  of  which  institution  it 
is  an  appurtenance. 

It  was  during  the  early  spring  that  Hawthorne  and 
his  wife,  straying  one  morning  into  the  church  of  the 
Capuchins,  saw  the  dead  monk  which  figures  so  im 
pressively  in  "The  Marble  Faun."  Hawthorne  him 
self  was  evidently  much  impressed  by  the  spectacle, 
and  dwells  upon  it  at  some  length.  "  He  had  been 
a  somewhat  short  and  punchy  personage,"  he  says, 


184  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

"  this  poor  monk,  and  had  perhaps  died  of  apoplexy  ; 
for  his  face  did  not  look  pale,  but  had  almost,  or 
quite,  the  natural  flush  of  life,  though  the  feet  were 
of  such  a  yellow,  waxy  hue.  His  gray  eyebrows 
were  very  thick,  and  my  wife  had  a  fancy  that  she 
saw  him  contort  them.  A  good  many  people  were 
standing  round  the  bier ;  and  one  woman  knelt  and 
kissed  the  dead  monk's  beads.  By  and  by,  as  we 
moved  round  from  chapel  to  chapel,  still  with  our 
eyes  turning  often  to  the  dead  monk,  we  saw  some 
blood  oozing  from  his  nostrils !  Perhaps  his  mur 
derer —  or  his  doctor  —  had  just  then  come  into  the 
church  and  drawn  nigh  the  bier ;  at  all  events,  it  was 
about  as  queer  a  thing  as  I  ever  witnessed.  We 
soon  came  away,  and  left  him  lying  there,  —  a  sight 
which  I  shall  never  forget." 

The  weather  moderated  somewhat  as  March  drew 
near,  and  Hawthorne  made  his  first  visits  to  many  of 
the  chief  objects  of  interest  in  Rome.  He  saw  "  Bea 
trice  Cenci,"  the  sculptures  of  the  Capitol,  and  of  the 
Vatican,  the  Forum,  the  Pantheon,  and  numerous 
churches  and  picture-galleries.  Hawthorne  was  in 
clined  to  prefer  sculptures  to  paintings,  —  especially 
the  paintings  of  sacred  subjects.  "There  is  a  terrible 
lack  of  variety  in  them,"  he  says.  "A  quarter  part 
of  the  Borghese  collection,  I  should  think,  consists  of 
Virgins  and  Infant  Christs,  repeated  over  and  over 
again,  in  pretty  much  the  same  spirit,  and  often  with 
no  more  mixture  of  the  divine  in  the  picture  than  just 
enough  to  spoil  it  as  a  representation  of  maternity, 


DONATL'S   COMET.  185 

with  which  everybody's  heart  has  something  to  do. 
Then  half  of  all  the  rest  of  the  pictures  are  crucifix 
ions,  subjects  from  the  Old  Testament,  or  scenes  in 
the  lives  of  the  saints  ;  and  the  remainder  are  myth 
ological.  These  old  painters  seldom  treated  their 
subjects  ill  a  homely  way ;  they  are  above  life,  or  on 
one  side  of  it.  Eaphael,  and  other  great  painters, 
have  done  wonders  with  sacred  subjects ;  but  the 
greatest  wonder  is,  how  they  could  paint  them  at  all; 
and  always  they  paint  them  from  the  outside,  and 
not  from  within."  —  He  relented  somewhat  from  the 
severity  of  this  opinion  afterwards ;  but  his  Puritan 
conscience,  more  than  his  aesthetic  sympathies,  was, 
I  think,  responsible  for  much  of  his  acquaintance 
with  ancient  pictorial  art. 

Slowly  the  Roman  sun  began  to  make  its  power 
felt ;  and  its  warmth  inspired  Hawthorne  with  a 
greater  degree  both  of  physical  and  of  mental  ac 
tivity.  Every  day  some  fresh  expedition  wras  made ; 
and  the  conceptions  of  a  new  romance  were  slowly 
assuming  shape  in  the  author's  mind.  The  Faun  of 
Praxiteles  was  to  be  the  central  figure  of  the  story, 
which,  as  first  imagined,  was  to  have  been  brief  and 
lightly  touched.  The  description  of  the  statue,  in 
the  romance,  is  an  almost  word-for-word  reproduction 
of  that  in  the  Note-Books,  even  to  the  reproduction 
of  a  slight  error  respecting  the  position  of  the  left 
arm.  By  degrees  the  original  idea  grew  and  de 
veloped,  until,  in  its  final  form,  it  became  the  most 
elaborate  and  the  longest  tale  that  Hawthorne  has 


186  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

written.  The  latter  attribute  is,  however,  mainly 
due  to  the  number  of  descriptions  of  Roman  arid 
Florentine  scenes,  which,  as  he  remarks,  he  had  not 
the  heart  to  cancel;  and  he  might  have  added,  that, 
in  addition  to  their  intrinsic  beauty,  they  afford  a 
grateful  relief  to  the  terrible  and  darksome  events 
which  make  up  the  tissue  of  the  story. 

Among  the  most  intimate  of  our  Roman  acquaint 
ances  were  the  family  of  Mr.  C.  G.  Thompson,  the 
artist,  who  had  painted  Hawthorne's  portrait  just 
previous  to  the  latter's  leaving  America.  They  had 
been  resident  in  Rome  for  several  years,  and  the  chil 
dren  —  a  girl  and  two  boys  —  were  valuable  acquisi 
tions  in  the  way  of  companions  to  the  younger 
members  of  Hawthorne's  household.  Under  the 
guidance  of  Edmund  and  Hubert,  the  present  writer, 
at  all  events,  became  more  familiar  with  Rome  and 
its  environs  than  he  ever  was  with  his  native  city. 
"  They  are  a  very  kind  and  agreeable  family,"  Haw 
thorne  writes,  — "  both  grown  people  and  children. 
During  an  evening  that  we  spent  with  them,  Mr. 
Ropes  and  his  wife  came  in,  he  being  an  American 
landscape-painter,  from  my  own  old  town  indeed  ; 
and  likewise  another  American  artist,  with  his  wife. 
I  suppose  there  is  a  class  feeling  among  the  artists 
who  reside  here,  and  they  create  a  sort  of  atmosphere 
among  themselves,  which  they  do  not  find  anywhere 
else,  and  which  is  comfortable  for  them  to  live  in. 
Nevertheless  they  are  not  generous  nor  gracious 
critics  of  one  another;  and  I  hardly  remember  any 


DONATl'S  COMET.  '   187 

full-breathed  and  whole-souled  praise  from  sculptor 
to  sculptor  or  from  painter  to  painter.  They  dread 
one  another's  ill- word,  and  scrupulously  exchange 
little  attentions,  for  fear  of  giving  offence ;  they  pine, 
I  suspect,  at  the  sight  of  another's  success,  and  would 
willingly  keep  a  rich  stranger  from  the  door  of  any 
studio  save  their  own.  Their  public  is  so  much 
more  limited  than  that  of  literary  men  that  they 
have  the  better  excuse  for  these  petty  jealousies.  I 
do  not  mean  to  include  Mr.  Thompson  in  the  above 
remarks  ;  for  I  believe  him  to  be  an  excellent  man, 
and  know  him  to  be  most  friendly  towards  me,  and, 
as  an  artist,  earnestly  aiming  at  beautiful  things  and 
achieving  them.  In  the  course  of  our  visit  he  pro 
duced  several  rich  portfolios,  one  containing  some 
sketches  from  nature  by  an  eminent  German  land 
scape-painter,  long  resident  in  Eome,  and  now  de 
ceased  ;  another  contained  the  contributions  of  many 
artists,  his  friends,  —  little  pencil  drawings  and  water- 
color  sketches,  bits  of  landscapes,  likenesses,  —  in 
short,  an  artistic  album;  another  was  a  most  curi 
ous  collection  of  sketches,  many  of  them  very  old, 
and  by  celebrated  painters,  which  he  had  partly 
picked  up  at  the  shops  of  dealers  in  such  things,  but 
had  bought  the  greater  part  in  a  lump  for  about  two 
dollars.  He  conjectures  that  they  were  part  of  the 
collection  of  some  old  Cardinal,  at  whose  death  the 
servants  had  stolen  them,  and  sold  them  for  what 
they  would  fetch.  Here  were  pen-and-ink  sketches 
and  pencil-drawings,  on  coarse  and  yellow  paper  of 


188  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS  WIFE. 

centuries  ago,  often  very  bold  and  striking ;  the 
'  motives,'  as  artists  say,  or  first  hints  and  rude  de 
signs  of  pictures  which  were  afterwards  painted,  and 
very  probably  were  never  equal  to  these  original 
conceptions.  Some  of  the  sketches  were  so  rough 
and  hasty  that  the  eye  could  hardly  follow  the  design ; 
yet,  when  you  caught  it,  it  proved  to  be  full  of  fire 
and  spirit.  Others  were  exceedingly  careful  and 
accurate,  yet  seemed  hardly  the  less  spirited  for  that ; 
and  in  almost  all  cases,  whether  rough  or  elaborate, 
they  gave  one  a  higher  idea  of  the  imaginative  scope 
and  toil  of  artists  than  I  generally  get  from  the  fin 
ished  pictures." — It  was  evidently  upon  this  "sketch" 
that  Hawthorne  based  his  picture  of  the  studio  of 
Miriam,  with  her  portfolios  of  drawings. 

Mrs.  Jameson,  author  of  "  Lives  of  the  Painters," 
was  likewise  among  the  friends  of  this  period ;  and 
it  was  impossible  not  to  like  and  respect  the  vener 
able  old  lady,  although,  in  her  role  of  prophetess  of 
Italian  culture,  it  was  not  always  easy  for  Hawthorne 
to  keep  pace  with  her.  Bryant  was  in  Rome,  too  ; 
and  somewhat  detailed  mention  of  him  is  made  in 
the  Note-Books,  though  his  name,  as  well  as  that 
of  Sunnier,  of  whom  he  spoke  to  Hawthorne,  is  gen 
erally  omitted  from  the  published  passages.  Miss 
Bremer  and  Miss  Harriet  Hosmer  also  appeared,  and 
left  pleasant  memories  behind  them.  But  the  mala 
rious  season  in  Rome  was  now  at  hand ;  and  after 
having  made  an  engagement  (not  without  much  chaf 
fering)  with  a  vetturino  to  transport  us  to  Florence, 


DON  ATI'S   COMET.  189 

all  expenses  included,  for  the  sum  of  one  hundred 
scudi,  more  or  less,  we  set  forth  on  the  morning  of 
the  24th  of  May,  after  a  residence  of  little  more 
than  four  months,  and  in  the  midst  of  an  avalanche 
of  curses  from  the  servant  whom  we  had  employed 
during  our  sojourn,  and  her  mother,  prompted  by 
Hawthorne's  refusal  to  present  them  with  a  week's 
extra  wages,  in  addition  to  the  fortnight's  warning 
which  they  had  had.  But  the  weather  was  superb, 
and  the  ten  days'  journey  was  accomplished  without 
either  death  by  apoplexy  or  any  other  misfortune. 

The  railroad  has  taken  the  place  of  the  carriage  - 
road  since  those  days,  and  I  suppose  the  charms  of 
tlie  latter  are  unknown  to  the  majority  of  visitors  to 
Italy.  *  But  nothing  could  be  more  novel  or  delight 
ful.  The  scenery  is  at  no  point  other  than  beautiful 
or  striking,  apart  from  the  historical  interest  of  the 
scenes ;  the  early  summer  air  is  both  soft  and  inspirit 
ing  ;  and  ever  and  anon  we  arrive  at  strange,  moun 
tainous  villages,  remote  and  lonely,  and  looking  as 
if  they  were  but  natural  modifications  of  the  gray  rock 
on  which  they  are  built.  The  fare  provided  was  al 
ways  ample  and  good,  and  all  the  labor  of  attending 
to  that  and  other  minor  details  is  taken  off  the  trav 
eller's  hands  by  the  vetturino.  Whenever  there  was 
a  hill  to  climb,  —  and  that  happened  often,  —  Haw 
thorne  would  alight,  and,  accompanied  by  his  son, 
walk  on  in  advance,  every  step  bringing  us  farther 
into  the  heart  of  the  matchless  Italian  landscape. 
At  night  we  had  sound  and  comfortable  sleep  in 


190  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

some  grotesque  old  inn,  perched  aloft,  perhaps,  upon 
some  naked  hill-top,  or  nestling  beside  some  famous 
lake  or  stream  in  the  narrow  valleys.  The  only 
drawback  to  enjoyment  was  the  beggars,  of  whom  the 
entire  population  of  most  of  the  towns  on  the  route 
was  composed.  But  after  a  while  custom  gives  them 
a  sort  of  semi-invisibility,  and  they  scarcely  interfere 
with  one's  appreciation  of  the  sights  and  scenes  amidst 
which  they  swarm,  more  than  so  many  flies  or  mos 
quitoes.  One  cannot  help  wondering  what  has  be 
come  of  these  innumerable  mendicants,  now  that  there 
are  steam-engines  to  take  foreigners  out  of  the  way. 

"  This  journey  from  Kome,"  says  Hawthorne,  "  has 
been  one  of  the  brightest  and  most  uncareful  inter 
ludes  of  my  life."  And  the  same  may  be  said  of  the 
entire  Florentine  experience.  The  chilliness  of  Rome 
at  first,  and  the  languor  of  spring  afterwards,  robbed 
his  residence  there  of  much  of  its  charm.  But  the 
five  or  six  months  now  to  come  had  in  them  nothing 
that  was  not  delightful.  There  was  a  lovely  ardor 
about  the  Florentine  summer  that  is  not  met  with 
elsewhere ;  and  the  city  itself  so  overflowed  with 
beauty  that  nothing  more  could  have  been  desired. 
Such  friends  as  Hiram  Powers  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Browning  afforded  all  that  nature  and  art  could  not 
supply ;  and  the  freedom  from  all  present  labor  and 
all  anxiety  for  the  morrow  gave  an  inward  pleasant 
ness  to  every  moment.  I  believe  this  to  have  been, 
upon  the  whole,  the  happiest  period  of -Hawthorne's 
life.  To  every  life,  probably,  some  such  season 


DON  ATP  S  COMET.  191 

comes  ;  and  six  months  is  perhaps  as  long  a  draught 
of  it  as  any  mortal  has  a  right  to  expect.  The  illness 
of  his  daughter  cast  a  dark  shadow  over  the  re 
mainder  of  Hawthorne's  Italian  experience ;  and  after 
that,  his  gradually  failing  health  made  existence  not 
seem  so  sweet  that  he  could  feel  much  regret  to  have 
done  with  it. 

The  Casa  Bella,  a  floor  of  which  we  occupied  from 
the  date  of  our  arrival  until  the  1st  of  August,  was 
a  fresh  and  bright-looking  edifice,  handsomely  fur 
nished  and  fitted,  built  round  a  court  full  of  flowers, 
trees,  and  turf.  A  terrace,  protected  from  the  sun 
by  a  rustic  roof  built  over  it,  extended  along  one  side 
of  the  interior,  and  low  windows  or  glass  doors  opened 
upon  it.  The  house  was  all  light  and  grace,  and  well 
deserved  its  title :  a  room,  giving  upon  the  garden, 
was  used  by  Hawthorne  as  his  study ;  and  there,  when 
not  wandering  about  the  genial,  broad-flagged  streets 
or  in  the  galleries  and  churches  and  public  gardens, 
he  used  to  sit  and  sketch  out  his  romance,  — the 
English  romance,  I  think,  not  the  Italian  one.  He 
did  not  write  very  much  as  yet, -however^  tha  weather 
would  have  made  it  difficult  to  stay  indoors  in  the 
daytime,  even  had  the  other  attractions  to  go  forth 
not  been  so  alluring ;  and  in  the  evenings,  Powers  or 
some  other  friend  was  apt  to  come  in,  or  lie  visited 
Powers's  studio,  or  went  to  Casa  Guidi,  near  by,  where 
the  Brownings  were.  The  lazy  luxury  of  Italian  life 
made  itself  strongly  felt.  Looking  from  the  street 
windows  of  our  apartment,  I  used  often  to  watch  with 


192  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

envy  a  young  ostler,  appertaining  to  a  stable  on  the 
opposite  corner,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  lounging 
out,  naked  to  the  waist,  with  a  broom  in  his  hand, 
and  spend  an  hour  or  two  dawdling  about  the  pave 
ment  and  chatting  with  his  acquaintances.  His  torso 
was  statuesque,  and  his  skin  as  smooth  as  a  woman's, 
and  he  looked  exceedingly  comfortable  and  contented. 
In  Powers's  studio,  across  the  way,  were  the  statues 
which  the  world  knows,  and  some  which  few,  per 
haps,  have  seen ;  and  Powers  himself,  tall  and  strong, 
with  his  paper  cap,  his  white  apron,  his  immense  black 
eyes,  and  his  pleasant  smile.  But  there  also,  within 
a  five  minutes'  stroll,  were  the  Duorno,  most  beautiful 
of  Italian  churches,  and  the  Campanile,  and  all  the 
noble  charm  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio  and  the  Piazza 
del  Gran  Duca ;  and  the  Pitti  and  Uffizzi  galleries, 
and  the  Boboli  Gardens.  And  it  was  hard  to  linger 
even  here,  when  one  thought  of  the  Ponte  Vecchio, 
with  its  strange  incrustation  of  old  houses ;  and  the 
Lung'  Arno,  and  the  Casino ;  and  the  sunny  hills  out 
side  the  walls,  with  their  fragrant  plantations  of  olive 
and  vine.  When  mankind  returns  to  the  Golden 
Age,  such  cities  as  Florence  will  be  the  rule,  instead 
of  the  exception. 

Hawthorne  began  once  more  his  study  of  pictures, 
with  somewhat  better  success  than  heretofore.  He 
appreciated  liaphael  more,  and  found  some  other  paint 
ers  losing  their  hold  upon  him.  The  "  Madonna  della 
Seggiola "  seemed  to  him,  at  this  time,  "  the  most 
beautiful  picture  in  the  world ; "  and  he  speaks 


DON  ATI'S   COMET.  193 

harshly  of  Titian's  "Magdalen," — but  from  the  moral, 
not  the  artistic,  point  of  view.  In  fact,  he  had  not 
got  so  far  in  his  pictorial  training  as  to  analyze  the 
composition  of  a  picture  ;  he  observed  the  workman 
ship,  whether  it  were  finished  or  rough,  and  the 
colors,  whether  they  were  brilliant  or  dull ;  but,  for 
the  rest,  he  accepted  the  work  as  it  was,  arid  either 
liked  it  or  not,  as  if  it  were  a  pleasant  or  a  disagreea 
ble  person.  Of  technicalities,  —  difficulties  overcome, 
harmony  of  lines,  and  so  forth,  —  he  had  no  explicit 
knowledge ;  they  produced  their  effect  upon  him, 
of  course,  but  without  his  recognizing  the  manner 
of  it.  All  that  concerned  him  was  the  sentiment 
which  the  artist  had  meant  to  express;  the  means 
and  method  were  comparatively  unimportant.  He 
accepted  and  respected  the  Dutch  masters  because 
they  came  into  direct  rivalry  with  concrete  nature, 
and  he  could  test  the  accuracy  of  their  rendering  by 

tf  O          J 

his  own  observation  ;  but  in  the  higher  spheres  of  the 
art  he  continually  found  the  beauty  of  the  idea  ob 
structed  by  the  imperfection  of  the  materials,  and 
could  not  be  quite  happy  about  it.  He  wished  that 
the  "Transfiguration"  might  have  combined  Raphael's 
breadth  with  Gerard  Douw's  minuteness  ;  the  more 
strongly  his  imagination  was  appealed  to,  the  more 
conscious  was  he  of  the  discrepancy  of  execution. 
This  discrepancy  does  not  exist  in  the  writer's  art ; 
there,  the  refinement  and  purity  of  the  texture  keeps 
pace  with  the  beauty  or  grandeur  of  the  conception ; 
so  that  Hawthorne  could  not  reason  from  the  one 

VOL.  II.  13 


194  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

to  the  other.  I  fancy,  moreover,  that  he  unloaded 
a  good  deal  of  his  responsibility  in  this  matter  upon 
the  shoulders  of  his  wife,  who  rejoiced  in  pictures, 
not  only  for  what  they  expressed  but  for  what  they 
were,  and  could  take  up  his  appreciation  where  it 
came  to  an  end,  and  carry  it  on  with  enthusiasm. 
There  is,  in  a  letter  of  hers,  written  at  this  period, 
a  description  of  the  "Deposition"  by  Perugino,  which 
may  appositely  be  quoted  here. 

"  It  is  a  large  picture,  with  perhaps  twelve  figures. 
The  body  of  Christ,  with  Joseph  of  Arimathea  at  the 
feet,  makes  the  base  of  a  pyramidal  group.  At  the 
head,  tenderly  holding  it  with  both  hands,  —  one  low 
down  at  the  back  of  the  hair,  and  one  at  the  brow,  — 
kneels  one  of  the  Marys,  looking  earnestly  at  the 
dead  face  before  her.  The  Virgin  Mother  kneels 
beside  her  Son,  seizing  the  left  arm,  and  gazing  at  him 
with  lips  apart,  and  deep  eyes  nearly  quenched  with 
tears,  —  an  expression  of  boundless  love  ;  her  grief 
communicates  itself  to  all  who  see  her,  for  it  is  a  real 
and  not  a  painted  grief.  Above  the  Madonna  stands 
another  Mary,  looking  down  at  the  body  with  uplifted 
hands,  with  more  passion  in  her  attitude  than  the 
others  ;  and  she  forms  the  apex  of  the  pyramid.  On 
the  left  kneels  the  third  Mary,  with  folded  hands, 
beautiful  and  absorbed,  looking  at  Christ  as  if  musing 
on  the  spectacle.  These  six  make  a  perfect  group, 
all  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  dead  form.  Behind  Jesus 
kneels  Saint  Peter,  a  grand  figure  and  head,  support 
ing  the  body  with  both  hands  beneath  the  arms,  but 


DONATl'S   COMET.  195 

turning  away,  as  unable  to  bear  the  sight.  Above 
Peter  is  the  fourth  Mary,  with  clasped  hands  and 
bowed  head  and  falling  tears,  —  and  she,  I  think,  is 
Mary  Magdalene.  At  her  side  is  one  of  the  disciples, 
united  with  the  rest  by  his  expression  of  unutterable 
sadness.  Above  Joseph  of  Arimathea  stands  Saint 
John,  perhaps  the  greatest  triumph  of  genius  of  all. 
He  does  not  look  at  Christ ;  his  hands  are  locked, 
in  desolation  of  spirit ;  his  arms  straight  down,  like 
iron,  and  his  fingers  strained  and  hard-pressed.  But 
in  his  beautiful  face  is  the  marvel  and  the  power. 
There  is  a  strong  passion  of  sorrow.  He  seems  to  gaze 
out  of  the  picture,  but  his  eyes  do  not  meet  your 
eyes.  There  is  a  bewilderment,  an  abandonment  of 
grief,  that  causes  a  blank  in  his  thoughts ;  also  the 
calmness  of  that  deepest  emotion  that  cannot  show 
itself  by  ordinary  modes.  He  has  gone  into  his  own 
soul  to  mourn,  finding  nothing  left  for  him  without. 
A  lovely  landscape  lies  beyond,  —  the  sun  just  gone 
down,  even  as  the  Sun  of  Eighteousness  has  set.  No 
one  else  need  attempt  to  paint  the  '  Deposition/ 
Raphael's  magnificent  'Entombment'  does  not  equal 
this  picture  in  sentiment,  though  in  beauty  and  ex 
ecution  nothing  could  surpass  it.  Noble  master! 
Noble  pupil  —  also  master  !  "What  immense  mag 
netic  force  proceeds  from  a  work  like  this,  over  which 
the  artist  lived  and  breathed  for  months  or  years, 
in  devout,  religious  worship  !  Such  pictures  ought 
to  be  made  eternal,  for  the  benefit  and  culture  of 
the  nations." 


196  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

—  Hawthorne's  success  with  sculpture  was  always 
better,  the  conditions  upon  which  to  base  a  judgment 
being  more  sure  and  simple.  He  saw  as  much  in 
the  "Venus  cle' Medici "  as  any  one,  not  a  sculptor, 
has  seen ;  and  the  "  Lorenzo  di'  Medici,"  of  Michael 
Angelo,  was,  in  his  opinion,  a  miracle  in  marble.  "  To 
take  a  block  of  marble  and  convert  it  wholly  into 
thought !  ...  Its  naturalness  is  as  if  it  came  out  of 
the  marble  of  its  own  accord,  with  all  its  grandeur 
hanging  heavily  about  it,  and  sat  down  there  beneath 
its  weight."  And  not  less  deep  and  creative  was  his 
insight  into  the  bronze  statue  of  Pope  Julius  III.,  in 
the  market-place  of  Perugia ;  and  of  Marcus  Aurelius, 
on  the  Capitoline  Hill,  —  "the  most  majestic  repre 
sentation  of  the  kingly  character  that  ever  the  world 
has  seen."  He  had  many  long  talks  on  the  subject 
of  sculpture  with  Hiram  Powers,  who  had  the  venial 
infirmity  of  believing  that  "no  other  man  besides 
himself  was  worthy  to  touch  marble,"  but  whose 
ideas  were  "  square,  solid,  and  tangible,  and  therefore 
readily  grasped  and  retained ;  .  .  .  but  when  you  have 
his  ultimate  thought  and  perception,  you  feel  inclined 
to  think  and  see  a  little  further  for  yourself."  The 
substance  of  many  of  these  talks  is  given  in  the 
Note-Books ;  and  it  is  entertaining  to  note  how 
Hawthorne  would  eliminate  from  Powers's  assertions 
the  personal  element,  and  then  submit  what  remained 
to  an  analysis  which,  though  perfectly  unassuming, 
and  deferential  to  the  artist's  superior  knowledge,  is 
always  keen  and  often  very  destructive.  In  truth, 


DONATI'S  COMET.  197 

Powers,  in  comparison  with  Michael  Angelo  and  the 
great  Greek  sculptors,  had  learned  only  the  alphabet 
of  his  art ;  he  ended  where  they  began,  but  was  as 
bold  and  fertile  in  criticism  as  such  incipient  knowl 
edge  generally  is. 

The  only  external  event  that  occurred  during  this 
month  was  the  Feast  of  St.  John,  —  in  effect,  a  sort 
of  carnival  with  the  masks  and  the  confetti  omitted. 
Its  only  interest  for  Hawthorne  and  his  wife  was  the 
opportunity  it  afforded  them  of  having  a  glimpse  of 
the  Grand  Duke  and  his  court,  who  occupied  the 
loggia  of  a  house  opposite  our  balcony,  and  who 
were  resplendent  in  gold  embroidery  and  diamonds, 
which  last  Mrs.  Hawthorne  described  as  "  an  inde 
scribable  fineness  of  fierceness,  —  so  ethereal  and  so 
real,- — like  the  crossing  of  wit  in  angels  !  "  But  the 
Grand  Duke  himself  was  not  beautiful,  —  he  "  looked 
like  a  monkey  with  an  evil  disposition,"  and  had 
"  that  frightful,  coarse,  protruding  under-lip,  peculiar 
to  the  Imperial  race  of  Austria.  It  is  worth  while," 
adds  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  "to  extinguish  the  race  for 
the  sake  of  expunging  that  lip,  and  all  it  signifies." 
—  I  quote  from  her  printed  Journal. 

The  white  sunshine,  falling  straight  downwards 
upon  the  flat  pavements  of  the  Florentine  streets,  or 
striking  against  the  stuccoed  walls  of  the  houses,  and 
reflected  thence  upon  the  inhabitants,  wrought  a 
fervency  of  heat  that  was  almost  too  much  even  for 
Hawthorne,  tropia-loving  though  he  was.  But  on 
the  summit  of  the  hill  of  Bellosguardo,  a  mile  beyond 


193  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

the  Porta  Komana,  there  was  an  ancient  castle  or 
villa,  belonging  to  the  noble  family  of  Montaiito. 
The  Count,  the  then  bearer  of  the  name  and  title, 
being,  like  so  many  of  his  peers,  less  rich  in  gold 
than  in  ancestors,  was  willing  to  rent  his  castle  for 
what  appeared  to  foreigners  the  unreasonably  reason 
able  sum  of  forty  scudi  a  month  ;  the  castle  itself 
containing  upwards  of  forty  large  rooms,  besides  a 
podere,  or  plantation  of  grapes  and  figs,  a  dozen  acres 
in  extent.  There  was,  moreover,  a  historic  tower, 
said  to  be  haunted,  and  commanding  a  vast  prospect 
of  the  valley  of  the  Arno,  hemmed  in  by  distant 
hills  ;  and  whatever  breath  of  air  happened  to  be 
stirring  was  sure  to  find  its  way  up  to  this  height. 
Near  at  hand,  across  the  gray  groves  of  olives,  was 
the  tower  to  which  Mrs.  Browning  had  attached  her 
poem  of  "Aurora  Leigh;"  and  Galileo's  tower  was 
also  visible  from  our  battlements.  Each  member  of 
the  family  had  three  or  four  rooms  for  his  or  her 
private  use,  and  more  than  twenty  were  still  left 
for  our  joint  occupation.  The  podere  was  in  charge 
of  the  contadini  belonging  to  the  estate,  who  were 
always  ready  to  provide  us  with  as  many  figs  and 
grapes  as  we  wanted.  Each  day  after  sunset  the 
mighty  and  brilliant  comet  of  Donati  stretched  itself 
across  the  valley  in  a  great  fiery  arch,  and  remained 
in  view  till  near  morning.  In  addition  to  the  ghost, 
the  tower  was  tenanted  by  a  couple  of  owls,  who 
at  dusk  hovered  forth  on  noiseless  wings  beneath  the 
battlements  with  strange,  melancholy  hootings.  It 


DONATI'S   COMET.  199 

was  the  custom  of  Hawthorne  and  his  family  to 
ascend  every  evening  to  the  summit  of  the  tower, 
and  sit  or  recline  there  till  bedtime,  looking  at  the 
comet  and  the  stars,  or  watching  the  progress  of 
the  distant  thunder-storms  on  the  hills.  Meanwhile 
the  distance  to  the  city  was  so  inconsiderable  that 
almost  daily  expeditions  were  made  thither;  and  if 
the  hill  sometimes  seemed  steep  on  the  way  home, 
every  step  upward  was  into  a  fresher  and  more  in 
vigorating  atmosphere.  Hawthorne  used  to  regret 
the  lack  of  water  in  the  view;  but  the  constantly 
varying  phenomena  of  clouds  and  sunshine,  storm 
and  calm,  which  the  breadth  of  the  valley  made  visi 
ble,  atoned  for  this  defect.  The  villa  of  Montalito 
was,  as  readers  of  Hawthorne  know,  the  prototype  of 
that  of  Monte  Beni ;  though  the  latter  is  placed  in 
another  region,  and  the  blue  lakes  and  gleaming 
river,  which  were  wanting  to  the  former  prospect,  are 
supplied  in  the  latter. 

It  was  in  this  mountain  stronghold  that  Hawthorne 
wrote  the  first  sketch  of  "  The  Marble  Faun,"  which 
he  afterwards  rewrote  and  elaborated  in  Eedcar,  on 
the  northeastern  coast  of  England.  He  had  tempo 
rarily  laid  aside  the  idea  of  the  English  romance, 
which  afterwards  assumed  at  least  three  distinct 
shapes,  but  which  he  did  not  live  to  complete.  His 
mind  at  this  period  was  as  fertile  in  imaginative 
conceptions  as  it  had  ever  been  in  his  life ;  and  could 
he  have  spent  four  or  five  years  in  Montaiito,  instead 
of  a  couple  of  months,  lie  might  have  written  as 


200  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

many  romances  again  as  now  bear  his  name.  Proba 
bly  he  would  have  remained,  had  it  not  been  for  his 
children.  But  he  wished  his  daughters  to  grow  up 
in  their  own  country,  and  his  son  to  have  an  Ameri 
can  education ;  nor  could  he  free  himself  from  a 
restless  longing  to  see  again  the  land  of  his  birth. 
An  exile  commonly  ascribes  to  his  native  country 
the  best  of  the  attractions  of  foreign  lands  and  the 
attraction  of  home,  besides.  Hawthorne,  however, 
looked  forward  to  a  return  to  Europe  at  some  un 
defined  date :  and  when  he  bade  it  farewell,  he  did 
not  know  it  was  forever. 

About  the  beginning  of  October  we  set  out  on  our 
return  to  Rome.  It  was  Hawthorne's  intention  to 
finish  his  romance  there,  and  then,  passing  rapidly 
through  Switzerland  and  France,  to  stop  in  England 
only  long  enough  to  obtain  his  English  copyright,  and 
il  for  America  in  June  or  July  of  1859.  But  all 

\  these  plans  were  upset  by  his  daughter  Una's  illness. 

•    He  wrote  nothing  while  in  Rome,  and  on  reaching 
England  decided  to  rewrite  the  book  there;  so  that 
/—our  return  home  was  postponed  one  year. 

We  did  not  follow  the  same  route  in  returning 
to  Rome  that  we  had  taken  in  leaving  it.  There  was 
a  railroad  between  Florence  and  Siena,  to  which  town 
the  train  took  us  in  about  three  hours.  William 
Story  and  his  family  were  living  in  a  country-seat  — 
the  Villa  Belvedere  —  outside  the  walls,  and  their 
presence  made  the  strange  old  place  familiar  and 
pleasant  to  us.  Siena  seemed  to  Hawthorne  the  most 


DONATFS   COMET.  201 

picturesque  town  that  he  had  seen  in  Italy,  with  the 
exception  of  Perugia,  and  he  fancied  that  he  would 
prefer  it  to  Florence  as  a  residence:  "A  thoughtful, 
shy  man  might  settle  clown  here  with  the  view  of 
making  the  place  a  home,  and  spend  many  years  in 
a  sombre  kind  of  happiness."  Mrs.  Hawthorne  was 
delighted  with  the  frescos  of  Sodoma.  Ten  days 
were  spent  in  Siena,  though  Hawthorne  would 
scarcely  have  stayed  so  long  but  for  Story's  company 
and  conversation.  "We  spoke,"  he  writes,  "of  the 
idea,  which  has  been  realized  in  my  own  experience, 
that  a  piece  of  good  fortune  is  apt  to  be  attended  by 
an  equivalent  misfortune,  as  its  shadow  or  black  twin. 
There  seems  to  be  a  vein  of  melancholy  in  William 
Story  which  I  was  not  aware  of  in  my  previous  ac 
quaintance  with  him.  He  acknowledged  that  for  three 
years  past  he  had  lived  in  dread  that  some  sorrow 
would  corne  to  counterbalance  the  prosperity  of  his 
present  life.  I  hope  not ;  for  I  like  him  particularly 
well,  and  indeed  it  is  very  hard  if  we  cannot  enjoy  ar 
little  sunshine  in  this  short  and  hard  life  without 
a  deadly  shadow  gliding  close  behind.  Old  age,  and 
death  in  its  due  time,  will  surely  come ;  let  those 
suffice.  The  notion,  however,  is  a  comfortable  one 
or  otherwise,  according  to  your  point  of  view.  If  the 
misfortune  comes  first,  it  is  consolatory  to  think  of 
the  good  that  is  soon  to  follow;  in  the  other  category, 
it  is  exceedingly  disagreeable." 

From  Siena  we  pursued  our  way  to  Rome  by  vet- 
tura, — a  five-days'  journey,  much  the  same  in  general 


202  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

character  as  the  former  one,  though  the  weather,  of 
course,  was  cooler,  and  the  first  bloom  of  novelty  was 
wanting  to  the  experience.  But  the  journey  was  en 
livened  by  the  magnificent  aspect,  rapid  and  skilful 
driving,  and  genial  disposition  of  our  vetturiuo,  Con-, 
stantino  Bacci  by  name,  —  a '  massive,  stately  fellow, 
with  black  eyes  almost  or  quite  as  large  as  those  of 
Powers,  and  with  a  gentler  expression.  The  children 
arid  the  "Emperor,"  as  Mrs.  Hawthorne 'called  him, 
became  greatly  attached  to  one  another  during  their 
sojourn  together,  and  were  more  than  sorry  when  the 
hour  of  parting  came.  We  met  with  no  more  favor 
able  specimens  of  Italians  during  our  residence  in  the 
country  than  our  two  vetturinos,  —  Gaetano  and  Con 
stantino.  The  "  Emperor,"  then,  drove  us  to  the  door 
of  the  house  No.  68  Piazza  Poli,  which  Mr.  Thompson 
the  artist  had  engaged  for  us ;  and  the  last  six 
months  of  our  Koman  residence  began. 


ROME   TO  ENGLAND.  203 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

ROME  TO  ENGLAND. 

THE  Piazza  Poll  house  was  comfortable  in  itself,  — 
though,  of  course,  on  an  indefinitely  compacter  scale 
than  the  vast  caravanserai  to  which  we  had  accus 
tomed  ourselves  in  Florence, — and  stood  in  a  con 
venient  place,  nearly  at  the  centre  of  Rome.  At 
night  we  could  hear  the  murmurous  plash  of  the 
Fountain  of  Trevi,  which  was  accessible  from  our  pi 
azza  by  a  short  alley;  and  in  Carnival- time  the  more 
tumultuous  roar  of  the  maskers  and  merry-makers 
was  plainly  audible,  surging  up  and  down  the  narrow 
channel  of  the  Corso,  on  our  right.  And  the  Piazza 
del  Popolo,  the  Eoman  Forum,  the  Pincian,  the  Pan 
theon, —  all  were  at  short  radii  from  our  starting- 
point.  Looking  out  of  our  front  windows,  we  beheld 
an  oblong  space  of  perhaps  two  acres  of  cobble 
stones,  with  a  palace  on  the  right  hand  and  an 
other  on  the  left;  and  overhead  the  intensely  blue 
Roman  sky.  Our  short  absence  from  the  city  led 
us  to  regard  it  in  the  peculiar  light  of  a  home  in 
a  foreign  land,  —  a  kind  of  home-feeling  which  has 
an  element  of  the  adventurous  mixed  up  in  it,  and 
which  carries  with  it  no  burden  of  responsibility. 


204  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

We  were  in  a  better  mood  than  before,  too,  to 
understand  and  enjoy  Borne  on  her  own  terms.  We. 
had  become  accustomed  to  the  Italian  sentiment  of 
things,  and  we  knew  where  to  go  and  how  to  observe. 
Altogether,  therefore,  the  prospect  was  highly  agree 
able,  and  we  anticipated  a  great  deal  of  happiness  in 
our  snug  little  lodgings.  Mr.  Thompson  the  artist, 
who  had  engaged  the  house  for  us,  accompanied  us 
on  our  first  visit  to»it ;  and  I  remember  the  miracu 
lous  way  in  which  the  door  opened  in  response  to 
our  ring.  The  latch  lifted,  and  the  door  swung  in 
wards  ;  but  no  human  hand  or  form  appeared.  We 
mounted  the  dark  and  narrow  stairs,  and  were  greeted 
above  by  the  elderly  lo.dy  who  acted  in  the  capacity 
of  servant  during  our  sojourn;  and  found  the  solution 
of  the  mystery  in  a  sort  of  bell-rope  depending  from 
the  wall,  which  was  attached  to  a  system  of  wires 
that  acted  upon  the  latch. 

The  old  lady  aforesaid  comprised  within  her  own 
person  the  total  retinue  of  domestics  that  we  employed 
or  required ;  for  there  was  no  kitchen-work  done  in 
the  house :  we  had  our  meals  brought  from  a  neigh 
boring  restaurant.  They  came  in  a  large  tin  box  on 
a  man's  head;  and  very  good  meals  they  were,  in  the 
French  style, — three  courses  and  a  dessert  at  dinner; 
and  if  the  brisee  beef  appeared  rather  often,  it  was 
always  very  nicely  cooked  and  flavored.  In  the 
evenings  —  which  were  long,  for  everybody  was  in 
doors  by  six  o'clock,  Eoman  air  not  being  considered 
quite  salubrious  after  that  hour  —  it  got  to  be  the 


ROME  TO  ENGLAND.  205 

custom  to  play  cards,  all  the  family  taking  a  hand  first 
or  last.  We  played  whist  and  euchre  and  old  maid, 
and  had  great  fun.  Hawthorne  was  an  incomparable 
companion  at  such  times;  he  made  the  life  and 
jollity  of  the  amusement.  Everybody  wanted  to  be 
his  partner,  not  because  he  always  won,  for  he  did 
not,  but  because  either  good  or  evil  fortune  was  de 
lightful  in  alliance  with  him.  He  was  charming  in 
victory ;  but  I  am  not  sure  that  he  was  not  more 
charming  in  defeat.  The  true  nature  of  a  person  is 
sure  to  discover  itself  in  a  long  series  of  games  of 
cards.  He  entered  heartily  and  unreservedly  into 
the  spirit  of  the  contest.  When  he  was  beaten  he 
defrauded  his  opponents  of  none  of  their  legitimate 
triumph  by  affecting  indifference ;  and  when  he  cap 
tured  the  odd  trick  he  made  no  pretence  of  not  caring. 
It  was  a  genuine  struggle  all  the  way  through,  and 
refreshing,  however  it  turned  out.  Perhaps  there  are 
few  men  of  fifty-four  years  who  have  enough  of 
boyish  freshness  left  in  them  to  sit  down  with 
their  family,  night  after  night,  and  laugh  and  exult 
through  an  hour  or  two's  play,  in  which  the  only 
stakes  were  the  honor  of  victory.  It  never  occurred 
to  me  to  think  it  remarkable  then ;  but  now  it  seems 
different.  He  never  seemed  old  to  us,  however,  even 
to  the  last.  There  was  a  primitive  freshness  in  him, 
that  was  always  arching  his  eyebrow  and  twitching 
the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

I  remember  this  the  better  on  account  of  what 
occurred  afterwards.     The  Kornan  malaria  was  not 


206  IIAWTPIORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

supposed  to  be  dangerous  after  October ;  nevertheless, 
in  order  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  our  rule,  as  has  been 
t;eady  observed,  was  to  be  in  at  six.    But  Hawthorne's 

}  eldest  daughter,  Una,  was  much  devoted  to  sketching, 
and  showed  some  talent  for  it ;  and  was  therein  aided 

/  and  abetted  by  Miss  Ada  Shepard,  our  young  Ameri 
can  governess.  Roman  ruins  are  tempting  material ; 
and  one  evening  she  and  Una  overstayed  their  time  a 

\     little  at  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars,  in  order  to  finish  a 

/  drawing.  A  few  days  afterwards,  Una  showed  symp 
toms  of  chills  and  fever,  and  the  attacks  returned  inter 
mittently.  It  was  evident  that  she  had  caught  the 
Roman  fever,  but  for  a  time  the  attack  seemed  to  be 
slight.  Dr.  Franco,  the  most  prominent  homeopathic 
physician  in  Rome,  was  in  attendance ;  and  the  youth 
of  the  patient  and  the  unimpaired  vigor  of  her  constitu 
tion  were  in  her  favor.  The  disease  held  on,  however, 
gradually  becoming  more  severe,  and  undermining  her 
strength.  After  a  month  or  two  she  was  no  longer 
able  to  leave  her  bed  in  the  intervals  of  her  attacks 
as  formerly  ;  and  the  matter  began  to  look  serious. 
Mrs.  Hawthorne  was,  from  the  first,  constantly  beside 
her  daughter,  and  a  better  nurse  —  more  self-possessed, 
cheerful,  tender,  and  exact  —  could  not  probably  have 
been  found  in  Europe.  She  was  also  unweariable  so 
long  as  there  was  any  need  for  nursing ;  and  it  would 
be  difficult  to  say  how  little  sleep  she  had  during  the 
four  months  that  Una's  illness  was  critical.  It  became 
very  critical  at  length ;  and  one  morning  Dr.  Franco 
came  out  of  the  room  looking  unusually  serious,  and 


ROME   TO  ENGLAND.  207 

spoke  privately  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hawthorne.  After 
he  had  gone,  we  knew  that  Una  was  not  only  ill,  but 
that  the  chances  were  now  against  her  recovery. 

Mrs.  Hawthorne  said  afterwards  that  Hawthorne 
had  never  taken  a  hopeful  view  of  the  case.  The  grief 
he  felt  at  the  idea  that  perhaps  his  daughter  might 
die  was  so  keen  that  he  could  not  endure  the  alterna 
tions  of  hope  and  fear,  and  therefore  had  settled  with 
himself  not  to  hope  at  all.  Indeed,  he  was  at  no 
period  of  his  life  of  a  sanguine  temperament;  and 
whether  from  philosophic  determination  or  by  force 
of  nature,  he  uniformly  chose  to  anticipate  the  darker 
alternative  of  whatever  event  was  developing.  But 
when  the  physician  was  obliged  to  admit  that  his  skill 
had  done  all  it  could,  and  that  the  rest  must  be  left  to 
fate,  the  shock  found  Hawthorne  scarcely  prepared. 
He  had  been  grave  before,  but  now  a  positive  darkness 
seemed  to  gather  over  his  face.  He  saicl  nothing,  — 
emotion  never  found  verbal  expression  with  him  ;  but 
no  one  who  looked  in  his  eyes  would  have  felt  that 
there  was  any  need  of  speech. 

All  this  time,  the  card  playing  had  been  going  on, 
evening  after  evening,  just  as  usual.  At  the  accustomed 
hour  we  would  take  our  places  at  the  table,  even  Mrs. 
Hawthorne  and  Una  occasionally  taking  hands,  before 
the  latter  was  wholly  confined  to  her  bed ;  and  Haw 
thorne  always  sat  in  his  chair  at  the  head.  The  rest  of 
us  laughed  and  enjoyed  ourselves  pretty  much  as  before, 
and  scarcely  noticed  how  seldom  Hawthorne  contrived 
to  smile.  We  thought  that,  so  long  as  he  could  play 


208  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

cards,  there  was  no  danger  of  an  evil  issue  of  the  fever. 
And  this,  of  course,  was  precisely  his  object  in  continu 
ing  the  practice.  Until  concealment  was  no  longer  of 
use,  he  was  resolved  to  keep  us  from  suspecting  any 
danger.  At  what  cost  to  his  own  nerves  and  patience 
he  had  persevered  in  this  daily  infliction,  one  can 
imagine  now,  but  we  had  no  suspicion  of  it  then.  And 
so  it  went  on,  until  Dr.  Franco  made  the  communication 
above  mentioned.  We  did  not  expect  to  have  any 
game  that  evening;  but  at  seven  o'clock  Hawthorne 
produced  the  cards,  and  we  sat  down.  The  game  was 
whist,  and  certainly  it  was  silent  enough  to  satisfy  the 
most  exacting  disciple.  One  hand  was  played;  and 
then  Hawthorne  put  down  his  cards.  He  had  gone 
to  the  limit  of  his  possibility.  "We  won't  play  any 
more,"  said  he.  And  neither  at  that  nor  at  any  future 
time  was  that  rubber  of  whist  decided. 
>^  Gloomy  days  followed,  without  and  within.  The 
*|  winter  was  peculiarly  dark  and  depressing,  and  there 
was  nothing  to  lighten  it  in  the  sick-chamber.  Mrs. 
^Hawthorne,  who,  at  the  other  extreme  from  her  hus 
band,  never  gave  up  hope  until  there  was  absolutely 
nothing  left  to  hope  for,  had  gathered  herself  up  after 
the  blow,  and  gone  back  to  her  patient  with  unfalter 
ing  strength  and  energy.  Franco  afterwards  said  that 
the  girl  would  undoubtedly  have  died  under  any  other 
hands  than  her  mother's.  There  is  a  sympathy  that 
does  by  intuition  what  no  medical  skill  can  advise. 
Mrs.  Hawthorne  had  at  least  her  duties  to  support  her, 
but  Hawthorne  had  nothing ;  there  was  no  distraction 


ROME   TO  ENGLAND.  209 

for  his  thoughts,  from  day  to  day.  At  length  the  cri 
sis  in  the  disease  came.  Unless  Una's  fever  abated 
before  morning,  she  would  die. 

With  this  sentence  in  her  ears,  the  mother  confronted 
her  night's  work.  She  had  not  slept  for  eight-and-forty 
hours,  and  had  lain  down  but  for  a  few  minutes  at  a 
time.  As  she  thought  of  what  might  be  to  come,  she 
was  conscious  of  a  strong  rebellion  in  her  heart.  She 
could  not  resign  herself  to  losing  her  daughter.  Una 
was  the  first-born,  and  on  many  accounts  perhaps  the 
dearest  of  the  children.  She  had  the  finest  mind  of 
any,  the  most  complex  and  beautiful  character,  and  in 
various  ways  most  strongly  resembled  her  father.  She 
was  just  emerging  from  childhood,  and  becoming  a 
young  woman.  The  struggle  had  been  so  prolonged 
that  it  seemed  impossible  to  surrender  now.  And  yet 
death  or  life  lay  in  the  beating  of  a  pulse.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  life,  the  mother  found  herself  at  odds 
with  Providence. 

Una  had  been  wandering  in  her  mind  for  several 
days,  and  was  continually  talking  in  a  vague  unintel 
ligible  murmur,  and  recognized  no  one.  If  she  were 
now  to  die,  there  could  be  no  farewell,  —  no  compre 
hension  on  her  part  of  the  end.  As  the  night  deepened, 
and  the  hour  drew  near  which  was  to  decide  all,  she 
ceased  her  mutterings,  and  lay  quite  still.  Her  mother 
was  alone  in  the  room  with  her.  Hawthorne,  whether 
awake  or  not,  was  lying  on  his  bed  in  an  adjoining 
chamber.  Mrs.  Hawthorne  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  out  on  the  piazza.  It  was  dark  and  silent ;  no 

VOL.   II.  14 


210  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

cue  was  abroad.  The  sky,  too,  was  heavy  with  clouds. 
She  looked  up  at  the  clouds,  and  said  to  herself  that 
she  could  not  bear  this  loss. 

All  at  once,  however,  her  feeling  changed.  It  was 
one  of  those  apparently  miraculous  transformations 
that  sometimes  come  over  faithful  and  loving  hearts. 
"  Why  should  I  doubt  the  goodness  of  God  ? "  she 
asked  herself.  "Let  Him  take  her,  if  He  sees  best. 
I  can  give  her  to  Him.  I  will  not  fight  against  Him 
any  more." 

Her  spirits  were  lighter  than  at  any  time  since  the 
illness  began ;  she  had  made  the  sacrifice,  and  found 
herself  not  sadder  but  happier.  She  went  back  to 
the  bedside,  and  put  her  hand  on  Una's  forehead ;  it 
was  cool  and  moist.  Her  pulse  was  slow  and  regular, 
and  she  was  sleeping  naturally.  The  crisis  had  passed, 
favorably.  One  can  imagine  the  wife  going  to  the 
husband,  and  telling  him  "  She  will  live  ! "  Such  a 
moment  would  atone  for  many  months  of  suffering. 

The  convalescence  was  long  and  tedious,  but  it  pro 
ceeded  without  relapse.  Roman  fever  is  a  disease 
from  which  one  seldom  recovers  unequivocally,  and 
the  present  case  was  perhaps  no  exception  to  the 
rule ;  though  the  ill  effects  of  the  large  doses  of  quinine 
that  had  been  taken  were  probably  quite  as  lasting 
and  injurious  as  those  of  the  fever  itself.  But  it  was 
enough,  for  the  present,  that  the  peril  to  life  was 
passed.  Soon  after  the  favorable  change  had  set  in, 
General  Pierce,  whose  presidential  term  had  lately 
concluded,  came  to  Koine,  and  he  and  Hawthorne  saw 


ROME   TO   ENGLAND.  211 

a  great  deal  of  each  other.  "  I  found  all  my  early 
friend  in  him,"  the  latter  said.  I  recollect  the  first 
evening  that  Pierce  came  to  our  house,  and  sat  in  the 
little  parlor,  in  the  dusk,  listening  to  the  story  of 
Una's  illness.  "  Poor  child  !  poor  child  !  "  he  said 
occasionally,  in  a  low  voice.  His  sympathy  was  like 
something  palpable,  —  strong,  warm,  and  comforting. 
He  said  very  little,  hut  it  was  impossible  not  to  feel 
how  much  he  cared.  He  knew  of  his  own  experience 
what  it  was  to  lose  children.  He  stayed  in  Rome  sev 
eral  weeks,  and  he  and  Hawthorne  talked  over  all 
their  former  years  and  adventures,  since  they  were 
boys  in  college  together.  There  are  some  interesting 
observations  on  the  ex-President's  character  in  the 
Note-Books.  "  I  do  not  love  him  one  whit  the  less 
for  having  been  President,"  says  Hawthorne,  "nor 
for  having  done  me  the  greatest  good  in  his  power. 
If  he  only  had  been  the  benefactor,  perhaps  I  might 
not  have  borne  it  so  well;  but  each  did  his  best  for 
the  other,  as  friend  for  friend." 

The  Carnival  came  again,  and  this  time  Hawthorne 
seems  to  have  entered  more  freely  than  before  into 
the  spirit  of  the  festival.  Indeed,  it  fell  in  with  a 
private  festival  of  his  own,  for  his  daughter  was  often 
able  to  take  part  in  the  frolic.  We  had  a  carriage, 
and  drove  up  and  down,  amidst  bouquets  and  con 
fetti,  in  the  endless  procession  of  the  Corso ;  and 
Hawthorne  flung  his  ammunition  as  zealously  as  any 
one.  While  he  was  actually  engaged,  he  fell  cor 
dially  enough  into  the  humor  of  the  sport;  but  as 


212  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

soon  as  he  became  merely  a  spectator,  lie  could  per 
ceive  only  the  absurdity  of  it  all.  Absurd  or  not, 
and  whether  or  no  he  contemplated  making  use  of 
the  Carnival  in  a  romance,  he  studied  it  pretty  thor 
oughly  on  the  two  opportunities  that  were  afforded 
him. 

As  the  spring  advanced,  he  resumed  his  walks 
about  Rome,  sometimes  alone  and  sometimes  with  a 
companion.  On  one  occasion  we  were  trudging  along 
a  road  that  skirted  the  outside  of  the  walls,  from  one 
gate  to  the  other,  and  the  companion,  who  was  always 
on  the  lookout  for  snail-shells  and  lizards,  had  fallen 
a  couple  of  hundred  yards  in  the  rear.  Hawthorne 
had  disappeared  round  a  bend  of  the  road ;  and  on 
catching  sight  of  him  again,  his  son  saw  that  he  was 
engaged  in  conversation  with  a  dingy-looking  person 
age,  who  had  evidently  just  asked  him  what  time  it 
was.  Hawthorne  was  not  very  fluent  in  conversa 
tional  Italian,  whereas  his  son,  in  his  daily  excursions 
about  the  city  with  his  friends  Edmund  and  Hubert 
Thompson,  had  picked  up  what  he  thought  was 
a  sufficiently  practical  knowledge  of  the  language. 
Prompted,  therefore,  by  a  charitable  desire  to  render 
his  attainments  useful,  he  shouted  out  to  his  father 
to  wait  till  he  came  up,  and  he  would  translate  the 
hour  into  the  inquirer's  native  tongue ;  and  at  the 
same  time  he  set  out  towards  them  at  top  speed. 
But  the  stranger  immediately  left  Hawthorne,  and 
continued  on  his  way;  and  it  appeared  that  the 
former  had  made  shift  to  give  him  the  desired  infor- 


ROME   TO  ENGLAND.  213 

mation.  On  reaching  home,  however,  Hawthorne 
told  the  anecdote  to  his  wife,  and  remarked  that  he  had 
every  reason  to  think  that  the  man  had  intended  to 
rob  him.  For,  as  he  produced  his  watch,  the  man's 
hand  had  crept  to  the  handle  of  a  knife  in  his  belt, 
and  his  countenance  had  assumed  an  ominous  expres 
sion ;  but  the  sudden  shout  in  the  distance,  and  the 
apparition  of  a  figure  of  indeterminate  dimensions 
making  all  haste  towards  the  scene  of  operations, 
had  altered  his  intention;  he  had  muttered,  "Grazie, 
si<mor ,"  and  walked  off.  Within  a  few  weeks  there 

o  * 

had  been  five  or  six  highway  robberies  outside  the 
walls  of  Rome.  The  moral  of  this  story  seems  to 
be  that  a  disinterested  wish  to  air  one's  Italian  may 
result  in  averting  the  blow  of  a  stiletto. 

Hawthorne  appears  to  have  enjoyed  the  last  month 
or  two  of  his  Roman  sojourn.  His  spirits  had  re 
bounded  after  the  heavy  depression  of  the  winter,  and 
had  not  yet  settled  to  their  normal  level ;  nor  was  he 
as  yet  aware  how  fatally  that  period  of  anguish  had 
told  upon  him.  The  weather  was  warm  and  sunny, 
and  pleasant  friends  were  around  him.  He  saw  a 
good  deal  of  William  Story,  and  it  was  in  his  com 
pany  that  he  visited  the  farm  on  which  the  new 
statue  of  Venus  had  just  been  excavated,  —  that 
which  was  thought  to  be  the  original  from  which  the 
Medicean  Venus  was  copied.  Then  there  were  fare 
well  visits  to  be  made  to  all  the  familiar  places  of 
interest;  and  there  is  always  a  peculiar  charm  in 
a  farewell  visit,  even  if  it  be  a  melancholy  one.  Haw- 


214  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

thorne  was  glad  to  leave  Rome,  and  yet  he  was  sensi 
ble  of  a  strong  affection  for  it.  It  endeared  itself  to 
him  even  by  the  suffering  it  had  inflicted ;  and  had 
his  daughter  died  there,  it  is  doubtful  if  he  would 
have  found  it  possible  ever  to  return  to  America. 
As  it  was,  however,  he  hastened  to  be  gone. 

We  left  Rome  on  the  26th  of  May,  Hawthorne 
having  taken  an  early  walk  that  morning  to  the 
Pincian,  and  through  the  Borghese  gardens,  and  to 
Saint  Peter's ;  and  "  methought,"  he  says,  "  they  never 
looked  so  beautiful,  nor  the  sky  so  bright  and  blue." 
The  railroad  to  Civita  Vecchia  had  been  completed  a 
few  months  before,  and  it  was  by  that  route  that  we 
departed.  "  We  had  great  pother  and  difficulty  in 
getting  ourselves  and  our  mountain  of  luggage  taken 
to  the  station  in  season,"  Hawthorne  wrote,  "  and  I 
know  not  that  we  should  have  succeeded  in  leaving 
Rome,  but  for  the  good  offices  of  Dr.  Appleton,  who 
took  as  much  as  possible  of  the  rough  and  tumble  of 
the  matter  upon  himself,  out  of  mere  kindness  of 
heart.  On  getting  to  our  destination,  we  had  further 
trouble  in  getting  our  luggage  transported  from  the 
railway  to  the  water-side ;  for  the  people  of  Civita 
Vecchia  are  absolute  harpies  of  luggage,  and  cannot 
be  hindered  from  laying  their  unclean  hands  upon  it 
by  any  efforts  of  the  owner.  I  think  they  are  really 
the  most  pertinacious  rogues  in  Italy,  and  the  most 
exorbitant ;  and  my  remnant  of  Roman  silver  (with 
which  I  had  expected  to  be  burthened  in  Leghorn 
and  further  onward)  melted  away  as  if  it  were  coined 


ROME  TO  ENGLAND.  215 

of  snow.  After  shouldering  our  way  through  this 
difficulty,  a  new  one  sprung  up ;  for  on  applying  at 
the  ticket-office  of  the  steamer,  we  were  told  that  we 
could  not  be  received,  because  iny  passport  had  not 
the  vise  of  the  French  Embassy  in  Eome.  This  sig 
nature  had  not  been  obtained,  because  we  meant  to 
go,  in  the  first  instance,  only  to  Leghorn,  but  as  I 
had  taken  a  through-ticket  to  Marseilles,  with  liberty 
of  stopping  at  the  intermediate  places,  the  steamer 
agent  declared  it  impossible  to  take  us  without  the 
French  vise.  Here  was  great  horror  and  despair  on 
my  part ;  for  I  do  think  life  would  scarcely  be  worth 
having  at  the  expense  of  spending  one  night  at  Civita 
Vecchia ;  and  besides,  in  these  crowded  times,  there 
was  some  doubt  whether  we  could  have  obtained  a 
shelter.  However,  the  agent  (who  had  at  first  put 
on  an  immitigable  face  —  to  frighten  us  the  more,  I 
suppose)  finally  intimated  that  the  signature  of  the 
French  consul  at  Civita  Vecchia  might  be  sufficient, 
if  there  were  time  to  obtain  it;  so  I  sent  off  a  com 
missionaire  forthwith,  and  the  passport  soon  came 
back  duly  vised.  I  must  do  the  steamer-people  and 
the  commissionaire  the  justice  to  say  that  they  seemed 
to  be  honest  men,  arid  not  only  asked  for  no  undue 
fees,  but  returned  (it  was  the  commissionaire  who 
did  this  unheard-of  act)  a  slight  overcharge  which  he 
had  made.  Having  got  on  board,  the  female  part 
of  us  were  assigned  a  state-room  to  themselves,  and 
Julian  and  I  were  put  into  a  room  with  six  berths  in 
it,  most  of  which  were  occupied;  a  hot  place,  too, 


216  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

down  almost  to  the  water's  edge,  and  aired  and  lighted 
only  by  a  small  round  hole.  We  shortly  left  the  port 
(which  appears  to  be  entirely  an  artificial  harbor, 
built  all  round  with  stone),  and  I  rejoiced  from  the 
bottom  of  my  soul  to  see  this  hateful  place  sinking 
under  the  horizon.  Dinner  was  served  soon  after 
our  departure,  but  I  think  only  Julian,  Una,  and  I, 
of  our  party,  profited  much  by  it;  and  we  had  a 
beautiful  sunset,  and  clear,  calm  evening  till  bedtime." 
These  details  of  travel  were  always  a  great  bugbear 
to  Hawthorne,  the  rather  since  he  was  obliged  to 
conduct  his  negotiations  through  an  interpreter ;  and 
it  seems  a  pity  that  he  could  not  have  been  relieved 
of  all  such  discomfort  by  the  services  of  a  good 
courier.  \.  . 

It  had  been  our  intention  to  spend  a  week  or  two 
(on  Una's  account)  at  Leghorn ;  but  as  she  seemed 
benefited  instead  of  fatigued  by  the  voyage,  and 
in  order  to  avoid  the  inconvenience  of  having  "all 
Tophet  let  loose  upon  us,  in  the  shape  of  custom 
house  officers,  gendarmes,  commissionaires,  luggage- 
harpies,  and  beggars,"  we  decided  to  keep  on  to 
Marseilles.  So,  after  spending  the  night  on  board 
the  steamer  in  the  harbor,  we  sailed  next  morning 
for  Genoa,  and  thence  proceeded  without  incident 
to  Marseilles,  "which  was  really,"  says  Hawthorne, 
"like  passing  from  death  into  life." 

Our  next  objective  point  was  Geneva,  to  which  we 
travelled  by  way  of  Avignon,  remaining  several  days 
at  the  latter  town.  On  arriving  there,  "  an  omnibus 


ROME  TO  ENGLAND.  217 

took  us  to  the  Hotel  d'Europe,  where,  on  driving  into 
the  courtyard,  we  were  received  by  an  elderly  lady 
in  black,  of  brisk  and  kindly  manners.  She  assigned 
us  a  suite  of  rooms,  extending  along  a  gallery  that 
looks  down  into  the  court ;  a  saloon  and,  I  believe, 
four  bedrooms,  which  number  we  have  since  dimin 
ished  to  save  expense,  and  because  our  hostess  cannot 
conveniently  let  us  have  so  many,  in  view  of  some 
races  which  will  bring  her  a  great  crowd  of  guests  in 
a  day  or  two.  We  dined  at  the  table  d'hote  at  five 
o'clock  with  very  little  company ;  most  of  the  guests 
dining  at  seven.  It  was  a  very  good  dinner ;  some 
claret,  which  appeared  very  tolerable  to  me  after  my 
experience  of  the  sour  old  wines  of  Italy,  was  placed 
on  the  table  in  liberal  quantity.  The  whole  thing 
is  far  better  managed  than  at  the  table  d'hote  of  an 
American  hotel ;  and  though  the  viands  here  were 
not  half  so  good  or  so  numerous,  it  was  much  easier 
to  get  a  comfortable  dinner." 

The  characteristics  of  Avignon  are  dwelt  upon  at 
some  length  in  the  Note-Books,  and  nothing  need  be 
added  here.  "We  left  on  the  7th  of  June  for  Geneva, 
stopping  on  the  way  at  Lyons,  where,  after  a  good  deal 
of  search,  I  found  my  way  to  the  Consul's.  Here  it 
was  my  misfortune  to  encounter,  instead  of  the  Consul, 
two  American  ladies,  with  whom  I  stayed  talking  for 
above  an  hour,  I  should  think,  —  to  our  mutual  weari 
ness,  no  doubt.  By  and  by,  however,  the  Consul  came 
in,  a  Mr.  White,  an  elderly,  frank,  agreeable  gentleman, 
who  received  me  with  great  courtesy  when  he  knew 


218  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

niy  name.  After  all,  I  needed  no  assistance  from  him, 
my  passport  having  been  vised  for  Switzerland  by  the 
Consul  at  Marseilles;  and  this  little  republic  makes 
everybody  welcome.  Returning  to  our  hotel,  I  spent 
as  much  as  an  hour  and  a  half  in  arranging  to  send 
four  trunks  to  await  us  at  Macon,  instead  of  taking 
them  with  us  on  our  journey.  The  same  business 
would  not  have  required  five  minutes  on  an  Ameri 
can  railway."  In  alluding  to  the  scenery  between 
Lyons  and  Geneva,  which  was  very  beautiful,  Haw 
thorne  observes:  "  I  have  come  to  see  the  nonsense  of 
attempting  to  describe  fine  scenery.  There  is  no  such 
possibility.  If  scenery  could  be  adequately  reproduced 
in  words,  there  would  have  been  no  need  of  God's 
making  it  in  reality.  And  I  have  no  heart  any  longer, 
as  I  have  said  a  dozen  times  already,  for  journalizing. 
Had  it  been  otherwise,  there  is  enough  of  picturesque 
arid  peculiar  in  Geneva  to  fill  a  good  many  of  these 
pages  ;  but  really  I  lack  energy  to  seek  objects  of  in 
terest,  curiosity  even  so  much  as  to  glance  at  them, 
heart  to  enjoy  them,  intellect  to  profit  by  them.  I 
deem  it  a  grace  of  Providence  when  I  have  a  decent 
excuse  to  my  wife  and  to  my  own  conscience  for  not 
seeing  even  those  tilings  that  have  helped  to  tempt  me 
abroad.  It  may  be  disease ;  it  may  be  age  ;  it  may 
be  the  effect  of  the  lassitudinous  Roman  atmosphere : 
but  such  is  the  fact."  It  was  a  fact  to  a  certain  extent; 
but  much  of  the  vigor  of  expression  with  which  it  is 
stated  is  due  to  the  circumstance  that  Hawthorne  was 
in  the  habit  of  journalizing  in  the  evenings,  when  he 


ROME   TO  ENGLAND.  219 

was  fatigued  by  the  labors  of  the  day,  and  was  thus 
liable  to  import  into  the  recollection  of  what  he  had 
been  seeing  the  weariness  and  distaste  of  the  moment 
of  writing.  But  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  springs 
of  external  enjoyment  were  beginning  to  run  dry  for 
him. 

After  a  day  or  two  at  Geneva,  we  took  the  boat 
down  the  lake  to  Villeneuve,  and  put  np  at  the  Hotel 
de  Byron.  Here  again  Hawthorne  was  stimulated 
to  describe  much  and  effectively ;  though,  once  more, 
looking  back  upon  it  all,  he  insists  that  he  has  not 
"  any  spirit  to  write,  as  of  yore.  I  flag  terribly  :  scenes 
and  things  make  but  dim  reflections  in  my  inward 
mirror  ;  and  if  ever  I  have  a  thought,  words  do  not 
come  aptly  to  clothe  it."  Nevertheless,  the,  whole  of 
"  The  Marble  Faun  "  was  written  after  this  date.  But 
the  Continental  journal  now  comes  to  an  end,  and  not 
more  than  twenty  or  thirty  pages  are  added  of  the 
final  English  and  the  American  experiences.  Return 
ing  at  the  end  of  a  week  to  Geneva,  we  went  to  Paris, 
and  thence  to  London,  and  so  found  ourselves  again  in 
the  Old  Home,  after  a  residence  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Channel  of  about  eighteen  months. 

Hawthorne  now  decided  to  remain  another  year  in 
England,  in  order  to  prepare  the  new  romance  for  the 
English  market ;  being  the  more  moved  thereto  be 
cause  he  had  unadvisedly  made  a  loan  to  a  friend  of 
a  large  sum  of  money,  wrhich  was  never  repaid,  and 
the  loss  of  which  necessitated  his  insuring  an  English 
copyright.  The  English  atmosphere  —  moral,  if  not 


220  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

physical  —  revived  him  somewhat.  He  appreciated 
England  the  better  for  his  absence  from  it.  On  the 
Continent  he  had  neither  felt  nor  known  anything  of 
the  national  social  life.  Always  inclined  even  in  his 
own  country  to  be  rather  a  spectator*  of  society  than 
an  active  participant  in  it,  he  had  been  more  so  than 
ever  in  England,  while  in  Italy  his  estrangement  had 
been  absolute;  and  consequently  he  had  been  forced 
to  confine  himself  almost  exclusively  to  the  compan 
ionship  of  art  and  archaeology.  Such  association  is, 
no  doubt,  educative  and  refining  in  moderate  doses, 
taken  in  connection  with  social  intercourse  or  in  the 
way  of  relaxation  therefrom.  But  to  expect  a  man 
like  Hawthorne  to  put  up  contentedly  with  nothing 
else,  was  too  much.  He  was  already  a  highly  culti 
vated  man,  but  his  culture  had  proceeded  in  the  direc 
tion  of  humanity  and  nature  rather  than  of  art.  In 
studying  works  of  art,  he  had  been  subjected  to  an 
inevitable  disappointment.  Understanding  nothing 
of  technique,  —  of  the  difficulties  to  be  overcome,  and 
the  means  adopted  to  overcome  them,  —  he  could  only 
feel  that  the  results  were  not  commensurate  with  his 
expectations.  The  sky  of  the  painter  was  not  so  bright 
as  that  of  nature  ;  the  statue  lacked  movement  and 
variety.  He  looked  for  the  achievement  of  the  impos 
sible,  and,  not  finding  it,  failed  to  give  due  credit  to 
what  was  actually  accomplished.  Had  his  refinement 
been  less,  he  would  have  been  ignorantly  pleased ;  had 
his  technical  knowledge  and  perception  of  relativity 
been  greater,  he  could  have  felt  conscientiously  satis- 


ROMK   TO  ENGLAND.  221 

fiecl.  A  great  part  of  specific  art  culture  consists  in 
learning  the  limitations  of  art,  and  judging,  not  abso 
lutely,  but  comparatively.  Hawthorne  had  never  had 
opportunity  for  this  ;  and  the  ideal  notions  of  art 
which  his  noble  imagination  had  engendered  in  his 
mind,  and  which  had  been  nourished  by  the  report  of 
art-lovers,  were  bound  to  be  discomfited.  He  suc 
ceeded  best  with  architecture,  because  that  is  the 
most  spontaneous  and  least  artificial  form  that  art 
assumes.  His  appreciation  of  the  famous  buildings 
and  ruins  of  Europe  was  profound  and  cordial ;  yet 
even  here  he  is  continually  finding  the  beauty  en 
hanced  by  its  connection  with  humanity  and  antiquity, 
—  a  connection,  of  course,  not  intrinsic,  but  created 
by  the  observer's  imagination.  During  his  residence 
abroad,  he  labored  strenuously  to  attain  a  more  com 
placent  point  of  view :  he  succeeded  in  no  small  degree; 
but,  as  he  constantly  refused  to  say  he  was  satisfied 
until  he  felt  that  he  was  so,  and  could  explain  why,  his 
Note-Books  rather  understate  his  progress  than  the 
contrary.  All  the  while,  he  was  hungering  (perhaps 
without  knowing  it)  for  human  beings, — for  a  society 
which  he  understood  and  was  congenitally  in  sym 
pathy  with.  Such  a  society  could  exist,  for  him,  only 
in  New  England.  There  only  could  he  feel,  without 
need  of  practically  demonstrating  it,  that  he  was  es 
sentially  at  one  with  those  around  him.  Elsewhere 
he  would  be  anxious  about  the  differences ;  there  he 
could  be  confident  of  the  similarities.  He  had  felt 
the  differences  sensibly  enough  during  his  first  resi- 


222  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

dence  in  England ;  but  the  social  comparison  between 
England  and  the  Continent  was  so  much  in  favor  of 
the  former  as  almost  to  make  him  feel,  on  his  return 
thither,  that  he  was  actually  at  home  again.  Here,  at 
all  events,  were  English  friends  whom  he  knew  and 
loved  ;  and  friendly  regards  encompassed  him  wher 
ever  he  went.  For  several  weeks  previous  to  retiring 
to  Kedcar  to  write,  he  stayed  in  London,  and  was  half 
surprised  to  find  himself  meeting  a  good  many  people 
and  enjoying  it. 

Henry  Bright  was  in  Cambridge  at  the  time  of 
Hawthorne's  arrival  in  London,  and  lost  no  time  in 
inviting  him  to  come  down  and  see  that  seat  of 
classical  learning.  "  It  is  settled,"  he  writes,  "  that 
you  must  stay  with  me  till  Monday  at  Cambridge. 
Kooms  are  engaged  in  college,  and  you  are  engaged 
to  dinner  on  Friday,  Saturday,  and  Sunday.  Had  you 

been  at  S 's  last  night,  you  would  have  met  a 

charming  madman  who  favored  us  with  his  company. 
Are  you  at  the''  Derby '  to-day  ? "  Hawthorne,  how 
ever,  was  unable  to  leave  London,  and  presently  re 
ceived  another  communication  beginning, 

"  Consul  Hawthorne,  you  're  a  sinner — • 
Make  engagements  —  do  not  keep  'em  ! 

What  am  I  to  say  to  S- ?     However,  I  find  I  can 

stay  at  Cambridge  some  time  longer;  so  you  must  stay 
too.  Can  I  see  you  here  to-morrow  at  twelve?" 
Hawthorne  could  not  go;  and  not  many  days  later 
Bright  came  up  to  London,  where,  he  writes  to  me, 


ROME  TO  ENGLAND.  223 

"  I  saw  much  of  your  father.  On  July  8  we  went 
together  to  the  House  of  Commons,  where  Mr.  Whit- 
bread,  the  member  for  Bedford,  got  us  places.  We 
came  in  for  a  debate  on  the  navy  estimates,  and 
heard  Lord  John  Russell,  Lord  Palmerston,  and  Mr. 
Disraeli.  On  the  9th  we  all  dined  at  Richmond; 
and  I  remember  how  amused  Hawthorne  was  at  a 
lady  in  a  curiously  antique  costume  who  passed  us 
in  the  street :  she  reminded  him,  he  said,  of  a  maid 
of  honor  of  Queen  Anne's  time.  On  the  10th  we 
dined  at  the  Hey  woods',  at  Counaught  Place.  On 
the  12th  we  went  to  call  on  Charles  Sumner,  though 
Hawthorne  said,  '  As  we  're  neither  of  us  the  Lord 
Chancellor,  he  won't  care  about  us ! '  Mr.  Sumner 
had  been  very  kind  to  me  in  America.  We  after 
wards  went  to  see  Dr.  Williams's  library,  then  in 
Red  Cross  Street, — an  out-of-the-way  sight,  but  very 
curious  for  its  pictures  of  Puritan  divines  and  its 
manuscripts  of  Baxter.  On  the  13th  we  went  for  an 
hour  to  the  Workingmen's  College,  where  Tom  Hughes 
had  asked  us.  A  number  of  men  were  sitting  round 
the  table,  and  Hughes  read  to  them  Tennyson's  '  The 
Grandmother's  Apology,'  which  had  just  come  out. 
We  also  breakfasted  with  Monckton  Milnes  (Lord 
Hough  ton),  but  I  forget  the  date." 

—  It  was  about  this  time,  also,  that  Hawthorne  first 
met  Henry  Chorley,  who  claimed  the  merit  of  having 
"discovered"  him  so  long  ago  as  the  epoch  of  the 
"Twice-Told  Tales/'  Mr.  Chorley  was  the  literary 
critic  of  the  "  Athenseum,"  which  was  then,  I  believe, 


224  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

edited  by  Hepworth  Dixon.  He  admired  Haw 
thorne's  genius,  and  had  written  cordial  things  of  the 
three  American  novels.  Personally  he  was  an  agree 
able  and  brilliant  little  man,  and  he  gave  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Hawthorne  a  charming  dinner  at  his  tiny,  but 
delightful  house  in  London.  I  find  this  characteristic 
note,  from  him,  alluding  to  the  occasion  :  — 

DEAR  MR.  HAWTHORNE,  —  Put  a  card  in  the  post, 
to  say  (as  I  hope)  that  you  are  no  worse  for  having 
come  to  me.  I  cannot  say  how  pleased  I  was  to 
receive  your  letter.  Surely,  though  one  cannot  be 
lieve  in  spirits,  must  one  not  in  sympathies  ?  Pray, 
recollect  my  readiness  to  do  you  both  any  pleasure  ; 
and  also,  that  if  I  can't,  I  shall  say  I  can't :  so  you 
cannot  be  strange  with 

Very  gratefully  and  respectfully  yours, 

HENRY  CHORLEY. 

13  EATON  PLACE,  WEST. 

—  We  shall  see  Mr.  Chorley  again  after  "The 
Marble  Faun"  has  been  published.  Meanwhile 
Hawthorne  and  his  family  left  London,  and  went 
first  to  Whitby,  on  the  Yorkshire  coast,  in  search 
of  the  seclusion  necessary  for  writing  the  romance, 
which  was  at  this  time  in  pieces,  as  it  were,  ready  to 
be  remodelled  and  put  together.  Whitby  was  a  mod 
erately  agreeable  watering-place,  with  a  high  cliff,  on 
which  were  the  remains  of  an  abbey  built  in  past 
ages  by  Saint  Hilda.  The  names  of  the  personages 
in  the  new  book  were  in  their  usual  unsettled  con- 


ROME   TO  ENGLAND.  225 

dition ;  and  I  recollect  that  this  abbey,  with  its  tradi 
tion,  suggested  to  Hawthorne  the  appellation  which 
he  bestowed  upon  the  New  England  girl  in  the  story. 
Hilda  has,  I  believe,  been  supposed  to  have  been 
based  upon  the  character  of  Miss  Ada  Shepard,  the 
young  American  governess  before  mentioned,  who 
had  returned  to  the  United  States  before  we  recrossed 
the  Channel.  The  hypothesis  is  more  than  usually 
infelicitous.  Hilda  —  whose  fault,  if  she  have  any,  as 
a  creation,  is  that  she  is  too  much  of  an  abstraction  — 
has  in  her  some  traits  of  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  though 
the  latter,  and  perhaps  Hawthorne  himself,  were  not 
aware  of  it.  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  was  much  the  larger 
and  broader  nature  of  the  two,  and  was  remarkable 
for  a  gentle  humor  and  sunniness  of  disposition,  in 
which  Hilda  is  conspicuously  deficient.  Neverthe 
less,  Sophia  Hawthorne,  with  her  more  winning  and 
humane  characteristics  omitted,  would  have  furnished 
ample  materials  for  a  Hilda;  but  of  Miss  Shepard 
the  latter  shows  no  trace. 

Hawthorne  did  not  remain  long  at  Whitby  ;  it  does 
not  seem  to  have  suited  him  as  a  place  to  compose 
in.  It  was  too  much  of  a  seaside  resort,  perhaps,  and 
it  did  not  possess  any  special  facilities  for  undisturbed 
walks.  The  cliffs  were  neither  of  rock  nor  of  chalk, 
but  of  a  dirty  kind  of  clay ;  interesting  to  geologists 
from  the  quantity  of  ammonites  and  other  fossil  re 
mains  contained  in  them,  but  not  otherwise  attrac 
tive.  It  was  finally  decided  to  go  to  Eedcar,  which 
was  not  far  distant,  but  greatly  more  secluded.  Here 

VOL.  II-  15 


226  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

the  broad  brown  sands  stretched  for  miles,  with  the 
sombre  German  ocean  breaking  over  them ;  and  in 
land  there  were  long  wastes  of  lonely  country,  with 
small,  remote  villages  here  and  there.  The  place 
was  little  known  then ;  and  certainly  it  offered  the 
strongest  possible  contrast  to  the  scenes  amidst 
which  the  Komance  was  laid,  and  therefore  gave 
these  the  stronger  relief  in  the  writer's  memory  and 
imagination. 

Owing,  in  great  measure,  to  the  exertions  of  Mr. 
Bright,  who  wrote  a  pamphlet  on  the  subject,  and 
talked  with  various  personages  in  authority,  an  agita 
tion  was  set  on  foot  at  this  period  relative  to  the  old 
matter  of  the  ill-treatment  of  sailors  on  board  of 
American  vessels.  Hawthorne  himself  intended  pub 
lishing  something  on  the  subject,  but,  with  the  ex 
ception  of  some  letters  to  private  individuals  and 
his  despatches  to  Congress,  never  found  opportu 
nity  to  carry  out  his  purpose.  The  evil,  in.  time, 
abated  itself,  chiefly  owing  to  the  decay  of  the  com 
merce  that  had  given  rise  to  it.  But  the  subject 
was  discussed  in  the  House,  on  the  motion  of  Lord 
Houghton,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  subjoined  letter 
from  Bright  to  Hawthorne :  — 


o 


WEST  DERBY,  LIVERPOOL,  July  29,  1859. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  HAWTHORNE,  —  A  letter  is  waiting 
for  you  at  Whitby,  where  I  supposed  you  were. 
Monckton  Milnes  is  bringing  on  the  ship-cruelty 
question  in  the  House  on  the  2d  August,  and  he 


ROME   TO  ENGLAND.  227 

wishes  you  very  much  to  send  him  a  few  lines  rela 
tive  to  the  matter.  Do  please  write  to  him  at  16 
Upper  Brook  Street,  and  tell  him,  if  you  will  kindly 
do  so,  that  the  evils  are  very  real,  and  the  law  quite 
inoperative.  Mr.  Tick  nor,  Mr.  Jay,  and  Charles 
Morton  are  going  to  try  what  your  Congress  can  do ; 
and  on  this  side,  Mr.  Millies  will  move  an  address  to 
the  Queen,  "praying  her  to  enter  into  negotiations 
with  the  Government  of  the  United  States  for  the 
purpose  of  preventing  the  gross  cruelties  practised  on 
merchant  seamen  engaged  in  the  traffic  between  this 
country  and  the  United  States,  and  for  bringing 'the 
offenders  to  justice."  To  this  I  hope  no  objection 
can  be  raised,  either  on  this  side  or  on  yours.  Please 
do  not  lose  a  post  in  writing  to  Milnes,  or  it  may  be 
too  late.  Tuesday  is  the  day. 

I  am  already  longing  to  be  with  you  all  again,  and 
must  certainly  come  to  see  you  if  you  '11  let  me. 
Ever  yours, 

H.  A.  BRIGHT. 

—  At  Eedcar,  Hawthorne  used  to  write  during  the 
morning  until  dinner-time,  which  was  at  half-past 
one ;  and  after  dinner,  except  when  it  rained  too 
heavily,  he  would  take  his  son  out  to  walk  with 
him.  We  generally  went  northward  along  the  sands ; 
and  at  a  certain  point  of  the  coast,  where  there  was 
a  sort  of  inlet,  Hawthorne  would  seat  himself,  and 
allow  the  boy  to  go  in  swimming.  Then  they  would 
resume  their  walk,  and  generally  strike  inland,  and 


228  HAWTHORNE  AND  II1S  WIFE. 

return  by  a  roundabout  way  to  Redcar.  The  dark 
mass  of  the  little  town,  with  the  red  sunset  sky  be 
hind  it,  presented  quite  a  picturesque  effect,  of  the 
solemn  and  dreary  order.  Hawthorne's  health  im 
proved  during  his  residence  here ;  and  upon  the 
whole  he  seems  rather  to  have  gained  than  lost  from 
this  last  year  in  England. 

We  remained  between  three  and  four  months  in 
Eedcar,  and,  so  far  as  I  can  recollect,  we  had  the 
place  entirely  to  ourselves.  It  was  not  the  "  season  ; " 
and  even  Henry  Bright  did  not  succeed  in  getting 
out  to  see  us,  although,  as  appears  from  the  following 
letter,  he  had  partly  formed  some  such  project  in  his 
mind :  — 

WEST  DERBY,  Sept,  8,  1859. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  HAWTHORNE,  —  How  are  you  all, 
and  how  is  the  novel,  and  how  is  the  Faun  ?  Do 
write  rne  a  line,  and  tell  me  about  your  doings  and 
beings  and  thinkings.  I  send  Mrs.  Hawthorne  an 
American  paper  with  an  article  in  it  on  Mr.  Horace 
Mann.  Thank  you  most  heartily  for  writing  to 
Monckton  Milnes  on  the  cruelty  question.  You  no 
doubt  saw  the  papers  of  the  4th  August  with  an  ac 
count  of  the  debate  in  them,  and  how  Mr.  Milnes 
quoted  us  both.  I  do  hope  your  people  (I  mean  the 
people  who  were  yours,  —  you  are  an  Englishman 
now)  will  help  our  Government  in  getting  something 
done. 

I  have  been  staying  with  Mr.  Milnes  for  a  week 
at  his  place  in  Yorkshire.  It  was  the  pleasantest 


ROME  TO  ENGLAND.  229 

time  I  ever  spent,  and  I  have  to  parody  Tom  Apple- 
ton's  mot,  and  say,  "  If  I  'in  very  good  in  this  world, 
I  shall  go  to  '  Frystone '  in  the  next."  A  beautiful 
park  and  gardens;  a  library  —  such  a  library,  with 
tempting  readable  books,  books  you  always  wanted  to 
see,  just  the  by-paths  of  literature  which  lead  nowhere 
in  particular,  but  are  leafy  and  flowery  and  fruity 
all  the  same ;  and  then  a  large  and  pleasant  party 
of  people,  each  one  of  whom  was  interesting ;  and  a 
good  cook  (!);  and  excursions;  and,  best  of  all,  the 
kindest  of  hostesses,  and  a  host  who  is  a  host,  —  a 
host  in  himself.  There,  does  n't  your  mouth  water  ? 
It  ought  to. 

I  saw  Mrs.  Gaskell  the  other  day.  She  too  is 
writing  a  novel,  and  the  scene  is  to  be  somewhere 
near  Redcar ;  so  I  think  it  is  probable  she  may  pay 
you  a  visit,  and  in  that  case  the  double  magnet  will 
draw  me  too.  Would  n't  it  be  glorious  ?  Only 
I  'm  afraid  the  two  novels  might  suffer;  still,  it 
would  be  so  jolly,  - — almost  as  good  as  Frystone.  I 
can't  say  more  than  that.  By  the  way,  how  perverse 
you  novelists  are  !  Mrs.  Gaskell  is  going  to  "  smash  " 
her  hero's  face,  which  she  says  is  quite  a  new  idea, 
and  he  is  to  be  horrible  to  look  upon,  and  then  a 
young  lady  is  to  love  him.  It's  as  bad  as  your  Faun 
committing  murder.  But  it 's  no  good  arguing  with 
you ;  as  somebody  says  in  one  of  Scott's  novels,  "  a 
wilfu'  and  obstinate  mon  [or  woman]  will  hae  his 
[her]  ain  way  !  " 

Dr.  Lothrop  was  over  here  the  other  day.     I  did  n't 


230  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

like  him  quite  so  well  as  I  fancied  I  remembered 
liking  him.  He  is  —  well,  never  mind  what  he  is ; 
I  don't  like  being  censorious  on  paper,  and  he  ha? 
certainly  been  very  kind  to  me,  and  his  daughter  is 
certainly  very-  beautiful.  I  have  been  showing  my 
chirography  to  a  woman  who  pretends  to  tell  charac 
ter  from  handwriting,  and  she  has  just  sent  such  an 
account  of  me  that  I  feel  absolutely  vain  to  think 
what  opportunities  I  have  of  making  my  own  ac 
quaintance,  and  what  pleasure  it  must  be  to  my 
tailor  to  make  clothes  for  so  eminent  an  individual. 
Who  now  will  venture  to  say  anything  uncivil  of  my 
pothooks  and  hangers  ?  Shall  we  hand  up  your 
handwriting  and  see  what  comes  of  that  ? 
Yours  ever, 

H.  A.  BRIGHT. 

—  In  October  we  left  Eedcar,  which*was  becoming 
somewhat  too  inclement  for  comfort,  and  made  another 
visit  to  Leamington,  which  had  become  a  compara 
tively  familiar  place  to  us.  The  house  we  occupied, 
however,  was  no  longer  in  Lansdowne  Circus,  at  the 
upper  extremity  of  the  town,  but  in  the  midst  of  the 
town  itself,  on  the  other  side  of  the  bridge.  Here, 
with  the  exception  of  one  or  two  brief  excursions  to 
London,  Hawthorne  remained  until  March  of  1860, 
and  finished  the  romance.  Every  day  he  walked  out, 
visiting  the  towns  in  the  neighborhood,  —  Lillington, 
Warwick,  and  Witnash.  It  was  on  one  of  these  ex 
peditions  that  we  discovered  the  grave  of  John  Treeo, 


ROME  TO  ENGLAND.  231 

close  beneath  the  wall  of  Lillington  Church,  as  de 
scribed  in  the  Note-Books.  Another  day,  at  Warwick, 
"  it  was  market-day :  in  the  sort  of  colonnade  of  the 
town-house,  or  whatever  they  call  it,  there  were  peo 
ple  selling  small  wares,  apples,  vegetables,  etc.,  and 
all  through  the  market-place  there  was  a  little  scat 
tered  trade  of  the  same  kind  going  forward  ;  pigs,  too, 
and  sheep,  alive  or  dead.  All  was  very  quiet  and 
dull.  We  went  into  the  museum,  among  the  most 
interesting  objects  in  which  were  some  small  portions 
of  the  auburn  hair  and  beard  of  King  Edward  IV." 
Again,  he  went  to  Coventry,  where  his  friend  Ben- 
noch  was  staying,  and  was  entertained  there  by  a 
retired  manufacturer,  Mr.  Bill.  "  His  house,"  writes 
Hawthorne,  "  is  a  very  good  and  unpretending  one, 
and  Mr.  Bill  seems  to  live  a  most  quiet  and  comfort 
able  life,  without  coach-house  or  man-servant,  though 
Mr.  Bennoch  says  he  has  an  income  of  three  thou 
sand  pounds  ($15,000),  besides  retaining  an  interest 
in  his  former  business." 

The  weather,  however,  was  very  unpropitious,  and 
Hawthorne  cannot  forbear  referring  to  it.  "  I  think," 
he  says,  "  I  never  felt  how  dreary  and  tedious  win 
ter  can  be,  till  this  present  English  winter,  though 
I  have  spent  four  or  five  in  England  before.  But 
always  heretofore  it  has  been  necessary  for  me  to 
venture  out  and  look  the  dark  weather  in  the  face ; 
whereas,  this  winter,  I  have  chiefly  moped  by  the 
fireside,  and  at  most  have  ventured  out  but  an  hour 
or  two  in  the  day.  It  has  been  inconceivably 


232  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

depressing :  such  fog ;  such  dark  mornings,  that 
sulked  onwards  till  nightfall;  such  damp  and  rain; 
such  sullen  and  penetrating  chills;  such  mud  and 
mire ;  surely,  the  bright  serenity  of  a  New  Eng 
land  winter  can  never  be  so  bad  as  this.  I  have 
not  really  emerged  into  life  through  the  whole 
season." 

On  one  of  his  trips  to  London,  to  arrange  the 
details  of  the  publication  of  his  book,  he  called  again 
on  Leigh  Hunt,  accompanied  by  his  wife  and  Una. 
They  found  the  old  gentleman  as  cordial  and  agree 
able  as  on  the  former  occasion ;  and,  Mrs.  Hawthorne 
having  accidentally  left  her  cloak  behind  her,  Hunt 
sent  it  back  the  next  day,  with  this  little  note  :  — 

DEAR  ME.  AND  MRS.  HAWTHORNE  (for  "  The  Scarlet 
Letter"  and  "The  Indicator"  will  warrant  me,  I  trust, 
in  thus  addressing  you,  to  say  nothing  of  gratitude 
for  your  visit),  —  Had  there  been  any  reason  in  time, 
weather,  or  any  other  contingency,  for  allowing  me 
to  expect  the  return  of  any  one  of  you  for  the  ac 
companying  cloak,  I  would  have  kept  it  accordingly 
in  that  "  look-out ; "  but  as  this  is  out  of  the  question, 
I  send  it  you  by  parcels'  delivery,  trusting  that  it  will 
at  all  events  be  in  time  for  you  before  your  departure. 
I  guess  it  belongs  to  the  young  lady,  the  look  of 
whose  face  upon  the  old  man  (with  the  others')  I 
shall  not  easily  forget. 

Your  obliged  visitee, 

LEIGH  HUNT. 


ROME  TO  ENGLAND.  233 

— "  The  Eomance  of  Monte  Beni "  was  finished 
early  in  the  spring  of  1860 ;  but  I  will  close  this 
chapter  with  the  following  letters  from  Mr.  Samuel 
Lucas,  the  editor  of  "  Once  a  Week,"  to  which  peri 
odical  George  Meredith  was  at  that  time,  I  believe, 
contributing  one  of  his  remarkable  novels.  The 
journal  was  finely  illustrated,  and,  though  it  had 
only  lately  come  into  existence,  was  taking  a  high 
place  among  the  magazines  of  the  day.  Hawthorne 
entertained  some  thoughts  of  publishing  his  pro 
jected  English  novel  in  its  pages;  but  the  design 
was  never  fulfilled. 

"  ONCE  A  WEEK  "  OFFICE,  No.  11  BOUVERIE  ST., 
FLEET  ST.,  LONDON,  Nov.  5,  1859. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  Will  you  excuse  the  liberty  which,  as 
editor  of  "  Once  a  Week,"  I  take  of  addressing  you 
without  waiting  for  an  introduction  from  any  com 
mon  friend,  and  will  you  permit  me  to  trouble  you, 
without  preamble,  on  a  matter  of  business  ? 

It  would  give  me  the  greatest  satisfaction  if  you 
are  at  liberty  to  entertain  a  proposal  to  write  a  tale 
for  "  Once  a  Week,"  and  I  am  confident  that  Brad 
bury  and  Evans  would  meet  your  views  in  a  pecuni 
ary  sense,  should  that  desideratum  be  attainable.  For 
myself  I  may  claim  better  opportunities  than  most 
of  appreciating  the  profound  truthfulness  of  the  de 
scriptions  in  "  The  Scarlet  Letter  "  and  "  The  House  of 
the  Seven  Gables  ; "  for  at  one  time  I  took  a  keen 
interest  in  cognate  subjects,  and  must  have  gone 


234  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

over  much  of  your  ground  to  write,  for  example, 
papers  like  that  in  the  Edinburgh  Keview,  three  or 
four  years  ago,  on  "  The  Fathers  of  New  England." 
I  mention  these  circumstances  by  way  of  excusing 
myself  for  breaking  in  upon  you  thus  abruptly.  .  .  . 
Hoping  for  your  favorable  consideration  of  my  pro 
posal,  I  remain, 

Eespectfully  yours, 

SAMUEL  LUCAS. 

—  Mr.  Hawthorne  replied  with  a  doubtful  and 
contingent  affirmative,  and  Mr.  Lucas  promptly  re 
joined  as  follows  :  — 

11  BOUVERIE  ST.,  Nov.  17,  1859. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  — I  am  both  gratified  and  obliged 
by  your  answer  to  my  letter.  Moreover,  it  is  quite 
as  satisfactory  as  I  could  have  expected,  as  it  leaves 
me  the  hope  that  hereafter  you  may  be  induced  to 
comply  with  our  very  earnest  wishes.  I  agree  with 
you  that  the  Puritan  chord  is  monotonous,  and  would 
indeed  prefer  any  other  theme.  I  know  with  what 
power  you  can  touch  other  themes,  for  I  have  just 
read  "  The  Blithedale  Eomance."  And  perhaps,  hav 
ing  lived  so  long  in  England  as  I  am  glad  to  hear 
you  have,  and  enjoyed  your  sojourn,  you  may  have 
acquired  such  an  interest  in  some  phases  of  English 
life  that  you  may  be  prompted  to  weave  these  into 
a  story.  In  this  respect  you  seem  to  have  an  ad 
vantage  possessed  by  none  of  your  inventive  compa 
triots  whom  I  can  recall,  except  Washington  Irving; 


ROME  TO  ENGLAND.  235 

and  I  sincerely  believe  it  is  open  to  you,  by  striking 
into  this  track,  to  achieve  as  thoroughly  an  English 
and  European  reputation  as  he  has.  Highly  honored 
as  you  are  in  England,  in  my  opinion  your  name 
has  not  acquired  here,  as  yet,  nearly  as  much  prestige 
as  should  fairly  belong  to  it;  and  I  do  think  your 
association  with  us  would  materially  help  towards 
this,  —  in  the  first  place,  because  of  our  great  and 
increasing  circulation,  and  in  the  next,  because  I 
can  put  at  your  disposal  for  illustrative  purposes 
the  best  artistic  resources  in  this  country.  In  this 
respect  we  are  aiming  at  something  unique.  I  may 
add  that  it  will  equally  suit  us  if  we  could  make 
arrangements  with  yourself  for  some  time  hence,  say 
even  towards  the  close  of  1860.  I  shall  be  greatly 
pleased  if  you  will  give  me  a  further  warranty  to 
discuss  the  matter  with  Bradbury  and  Evans,  who 
are  quite  prepared  to  meet  you  on  your  own  terms 
in  a  pecuniary  sense. 

Believe  me  yours  sincerely, 

SAM.  LUCAS. 

—  The  new  romance  was  placed  in  the  hands  of 
the  printers  in  February,  and  was  published  in  three 
volumes  by  Messrs.  Smith  and  Elder  at  the  end  of 
that  month,  under  the  title  of  "Transformation." 


236  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 


CHAPTEE  VII. 
THE  MARBLE  FAUN. 

IT  was  before  leaving  Leamington,  I  think,  that  Haw 
thorne  accompanied  his  friend  Henry  Bright  to  Rugby, 
where  the  latter  had  been  at  school  when  a  boy,  and 
was  introduced  to  Dr.  Temple,  the  head  master,  since 
made  Bishop  of  Exeter.  Bright  then  took  him  over 
to  Bilton  Hall,  across  the  fields,  where  Addison  had 
lived;  and  he  was  much  interested  in  some  of  the 
pictures  there. 

He  met  Bright  again  on  coming  to  London,  and 
(says  the  latter)  "  we  spent  several  hours  wandering 
about  and  chatting.  I  told  him  I  had  heard  that  his 
Miriam  (it  was  Arthur  Penrhyn  Stanley's  idea)  was 
Mdlle.  de  Luzzy,  the  governess  of  the  Due  de  Praslyn. 
He  was  much  amused.  'Well,  I  dare  say  she  was,' 
he  said.  '  I  knew  I  had  some  dim  recollection  of  some 
crime,  but  I  did  n't  know  what.'  He  added,  '  As  re 
gards  the  last  chapter  of  "  Transformation  "  in  the  sec 
ond  edition,  don't  read  it ;  it 's  good  for  nothing.  The 
story  isn't  meant  to  be  explained;  it's  cloudland.' 
We  went  together  to  the  National  Gallery,  and  looked 
for  a  faun  among  the  Bacchanalian  pictures ;  but  no 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN.  237 

faun  we  could  see  had  furry  ears.  The  satyrs  all  had. 
We  had  a  great  deal  of  fun  about  this." 

Hawthorne  went  in  March  to  Bath,  and  remained 
there  six  or  seven  weeks.  "  I  have  no  longer  any 
impulse  to  describe  what  I  see,"  he  writes,  "  and 
cannot  overcome  my  reluctance  to  take  up  the  pen." 
A  brief  but  comprehensive  description  of  Bath  will, 
however,  be  found  in  the  Note-Books.  He  found 
the  air  preferable  to  that  of  Leamington,  "yet  heavy 
enough,  in  the  lack  of  any  object  of  interest  which 
I  at  present  have,  to  make  me  feverish  and  miser 
able.  Perhaps/'  he  adds,  "  I  will  describe  the  Puinp- 
Koom  some  time  ;  and  no  matter  if  I  don't ! "  He 
appends  to  his  journal  two  or  three  notes  for  use  in 
possible  stories,  —  the  last  notes  of  the  kind  he  ever 
made. 

"  At  the  shop-window  of  a  carpenter  and  undertaker, 
the  other  day,  I  saw  two  or  three  rows  of  books,  of  all 
sizes,  from  folio  to  duodecimo,  and  mostly  wearing  an 
antique  aspect.  There  was  the  old  folio  of  Fox's  '  Book 
of  Martyrs/  and  volumes  of  old  sermons,  and  histories, 
looking  like  books  that  had  long  been  the  household 
literature  of  families,  and  which  the  present  owner 
had  got  possession  of,  probably,  when  he  went  to 
measure  the  dead  man  for  his  coffin,  and  perform 
the  other  funeral  rites,  —  taking  these  volumes,  per 
haps,  in  part  payment  of  his  services." 

"  Imagine  a  ghost,  just  passed  into  the  other  state 
of  being,  looking  back  into  this  mortal  world,  and 
shocked  by  many  things  that  were  delightful  just 


238  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

belore, —  more  shocked  than  the  living  are  at  the 
ghostly  world." 

"  A  pretty  young  girl,  so  small  and  lustrous  that 
you  would  like  to  set  her  in  a  brooch  and  wear  her 
in  your  bosom." 

— The  first  English  reviews  of  "Transformation" 
appeared  early  in  March,  1860.  The  book  was  re 
ceived  with  eagerness ;  but  general  disappointment 
was  felt  at  what  was  considered  to  be  its  inconclusive 
conclusion.  Most  of  the  reviewers,  and  many  of  Haw 
thorne's  personal  acquaintances,  shared  in  this  feeling. 
The  most  shining  exception  to  the  rule  was  John 
Lothrop  Motley,  who  wrote  the  author  an  admirable 
letter  about  the  romance,  which,  since  it  has  been 
quoted  in  another  place  (together  with  Hawthorne's 
reply),  I  will  not  give  here.  The  book  was  the  first 
that  Hawthorne  had  written  which  had  not  been  cor 
dially  welcomed,  and  no  doubt  the  change  was  a  dis 
appointment  to  him.  He  was  always  too  ready  to 
think  slightly  of  his  own  work,  and,  in  his  then  con 
dition  of  mind,  he  found  little  spirits  to  make  head 
against  what  seemed  the  popular  verdict.  He  used 
to  read  the  letters  and  the  reviews  with  a  smile,  and 
sometimes  with  a  laugh,  but  sadly,  too.  "  The  thing 
is  a  failure,"  he  used  to  say.  He  meant,  perhaps,  that 
he  had  failed  in  making  his  audience  take  his  point 
of  view  towards  the  story.  Certainly,  he  had  taken 
most  of  them  out  of  their  depth.  There  was  a  general 
demand  for  an  "  explanation  "  of  the  mysteries  of  the 
tale ;  and  at  last  Hawthorne,  in  a  half-ironic  mood, 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN.  239 

wrote  the  short  chapter  now  appended  to  the  book. 
Nothing,  of  course,  is  explained ;  it  was  impossible 
to  explain  to  the  reader  his  own  stupidity.  It  was 
not  till  many  years  afterwards,  when  Hawthorne 
was  in  his  grave,  that  a  more  intelligent  criticism 
began  to  perceive  that  the  story  had  been  told  after 
all. 

One  of  the  first  letters  received  was  from  Henry 
Bright. 

" .  .  .  I  'm  in  the  middle  of  '  Monte  Beni '  (why  did 
Smith  and  Elder  transform  it  into  'Transformation'  ? 
—  they  are  rather  given  to  playing  these  pranks  with 
author's  titles),  and  I  am  delighted  with  it.  I  am 
glad  that  sulky  '  Athenaeum '  was  so  civil ;  for  they 
are  equally  powerful  and  unprincipled,  and  a  bad 
word  there  would  have  done  harm.  I  think  your 
descriptions  of  scenery  and  places  most  admirable; 
and  as  for  statues  and  pictures,  I  think  they  never 
were  so  described  before,  —  you  seem  to  enter  into 
their  (or  their  artists')  very  soul,  and  lay  it  bare  before 
us.  As  I  've  not  read  more  than  a  volume  yet,  I  can 
say  nothing  about  the  plot,  except  that  it  interests 
and  excites  me.  Donatello  I  hardly  quite  like  and 
understand  as  yet ;  a  being  half  man,  half  child,  half 
animal,  puzzles  me ;  to  me  there  seems  a  something  a 
little  —  just  a  little  —  wanting,  and  that  gives  me  an 
uncomfortable  feeling  of  half  development,  half  idiocy, 
which  is  of  course  unpleasant.  But  as  I  know  him 
better  I  may  like  him  more.  Harriet  says  you  Ve 
stolen  the  description  of  Miriam  from  her  Jewess — as 


•  240  HA  WTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

she  calls  the  extract  you  gave  her  —  and  intends  to 
accuse  you  of  plagiarism  if  not  of  theft.  In  Hilda 
it  seems  to  me  you  had  a  thought  of  Una.  My  ac 
quaintance  with  Kenyon  is  as  yet  too  slight.  You 
have  not,  I  trust,  forgotten  about  the  precious  manu 
script  which  is  to  be  the  gem,  the  Koh-i-noor,  of  my 
autographs.  .  .  . 

"  I've  finished  the  book,  and  am,  I  think,  more  angry 
at  your  tantalizing  cruelty  than  either  '  Athenaeum ' 
or  '  Saturday  Eeview.'  I  want  to  know  a  hundred 
things  you  do  not  tell  me,  —  who  Miriam  was,  what 
was  the  crime  in  which  she  was  concerned  and  of 
which  all  Europe  knew,  what  was  in  the  packet, 
what  became  of  Hilda,  whether  Miriam  married 
Donatello,  whether  Donatello  got  his  head  cut  off, 
etc.  Of  course  you'll  say  I  ought  to  guess;  well, 
if  I  do  guess,  it  is  but  a  guess,  and  I  want  to  know. 
Yesterday  I  wrote  a  review  of  you  in  the  '  Examiner,' 
and  in  spite  of  my  natural  indignation,  I  hope  you 
will  not  altogether  dislike  what  I  have  said.  In 
other  respects  I  admire  'Monte  Beni'  more  than  I  can 
tell  you ;  and  I  suppose  no  one  now  will  visit  Rome 
without  a  copy  of  it  in  his  hand.  Nowhere  are 
descriptions  to  be  found  so  beautiful,  so  true,  and  so 
pathetic.  And  there  are  little  bits  of  you  in  the  book 
which  are  best  of  all, — half  moralizing,  half  thinking 
aloud.  There  is  a  bit  about  women  sewing  which 
Harriet  raves  about.  There  are  bits  about  Catholi 
cism  and  love  and  sin,  which  are  marvellously 
thought  and  gloriously  written."  .  .  . 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN.  241 

d  —  To  the  first  instalment  of  this  letter  Hawthorne 

/wrote  the  following  reply :  — 

DEAR  MR.  BRIGHT,  —  I  thank  you  very  much  for 
your  letter,  and  am  glad  you  like  the  romance  so  far 
and  so  well.  I  shall  be  really  gratified  if  you  review 
it.  Very  likely  you  are  right  about  Donatello ;  for, 
though  the  idea  in  my  mind  was  an  agreeable  and 
beautiful  one,  it  was  not  easy  to  present  it  to  the 
reader. 

Smith  and  Elder  certainly  do  take  strange  liberties 
with  the  titles  of  books.  I  wanted  to  call  it  "  The 
Marble  Faun,"  but  they  insisted  upon  "  Transforma 
tion,"  which  will  lead  the  reader  to  anticipate  a  sort 
of  pantomime.  They  wrote  me  some  days  ago  that 
the  edition  was  nearly  all  sold,  and  that  they  are 
going  to  print  another ;  to  which  I  mean  to  append  a 
few  pages,  in  the  shape  of  a  conversation  between 
Kenyon,  Hilda,  and  the  author,  throwing  some  further 
light  on  matters  which  seem  to  have  been  left  too 
much  in  the  dark.  For  my  own  part,  however,  I 
should  prefer  the  book  as  it  now  stands. 

It  so  happened  that,  at  the  very  time  you  were  writ 
ing,  Una  was  making  up  a  parcel  of  the  manuscript  to 
send  to  you.  There  is  a  further  portion,  now  in  the 
hands  of  Smith  and  Elder,  which  I  will  procure  when 
I  go  to  London,  —  that  is,  if  you  do  not  consider  this 
immense  mass  more  than  enough. 

I  begin  to  be  restless  (and  so  do  we  all)  with  the 
anticipation  of  our  approaching  departure,  and,  almost 

VOL.  II.  16 


242  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

for  the  first  time,  I  long  to  be  at  home.  Nothing 
more  can  be  done  or  enjoyed  till  we  have  breathed  our 
native  air  again.  I  do  not  even  care  for  London  now, 
though  I  mean  to  spend  a  few  weeks  there  before 
taking  our  final  leave ;  not  that  I  mean  to  think  it  a 
last  leave-taking,  either.  In  three  or  four  more  years 
or  less,  my  longings  will  no  doubt  be  transferred 
from  that  side  of  the  water  to  this ;  and  perhaps  I 
shall  write  another  book,  and  come  over  to  get  it 
published. 

We  are  rather  at  a  loss  for  a  suitable  place  to  stay 
at  during  the  interval  between  this  and  the  middle 
of  June,  when  we  mean  to  sail.  Liverpool  is  to  be 
avoided,  on  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  account,  till  the  last 
moment;  and  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  air  in  England 
fit  for  her  to  breathe.  We  have  some  idea  of  going 
to  Bath,  but  more  probably  we  shall  establish  our 
selves  for  a  month  or  two  in  the  neighborhood  of 
London.  But,  as  I  said  before,  we  shall  enjoy  little 
or  nothing,  wherever  we  may  be.  Our  roots  are 
pulled  up,  and  we  cannot  really  live  till  we  stick 
them  into  the  ground  again.  There  will  be  pleasure, 
indeed,  in  greeting  you  again  at  Liverpool  (the  most 
disagreeable  city  in  England,  nevertheless),  but  a 
sharp  pain  in  bidding  you  farewell.  The  sooner  it 
is  all  over,  the  better.  What  an  uneasy  kind  of 
world  we  live  in !  With  this  very  original  remark,  I 
remain 

Most  sincerely  your  friend, 

NATH.  HAWTHORNE. 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN.  243 


'  — Mr.  Bright  answered  as  follows  :  — 

/  MY  DEAR  MR.  HAWTHORNE,  —  Thank  you  most 
heartily  for  your  kind  letter,  and  for  the  manuscript 
of  "  Transformation."  which  has  this  morning  reached 
me.  Please  get  the  missing  pages  from  Smith  and 
Elder.  I  am  going  to  bind  the  book  up  in  three 
gorgeous  volumes ;  there  always  seems  to  me  to  be 
a  peculiar  color  about  every  story  you  write,  and  my 
binding  will  depend  on  what  I  think  when  I  have 
finished  the  book.  What  binding  do  you  think  would 
be  most  appropriate  ?  I  must  really  try  to  be  in 
London  again  in  May,  that  I  may  meet  you  in  that 
most  heavenly  place,  —  that  we  may  again  dine  to 
gether  at  the  Club,  and  see  strange,  out-of-the-way 
nooks,  and  watch  the  carriages  in  the  Park.  Please 
let  me  know  where  you  are  to  be  found.  If  before 
going  to  London  you  are  looking  for  a  pleasant  prace 
to  spend  a  month,  why  not  Malvern  ?  I  do  so  want 
you  to  see  it  and  love  it  as  I  do. 

Ever  most  truly  yours, 

H.  A.  BRIGHT. 

—  Concerning  the  bound  volumes  of  the  manuscript, 
Mr.  Bright  writes  to  me :  "  It  is  beautifully  written, 
and  I  remember  that  he  spoke  of  the  few  corrections 
with  some  pride.  Kenyon's  name  was  originally 
Grayson,  and  is  altered  throughout." 

Among  other  letters,  there  was  this  from  Monckton 
Milnes  :  — 


244  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

MY  DEAR  SIR, — I  would  not  return  you  my  thanl? 
for  the  gift  of  your  book  till  I  could  return  thanks 
for  the  delight  of  reading  it.  I  enjoyed  it  as  a  true 
Anglo-Eoman ;  it  took  me  back  twenty  years,  and 
gave  me  a  true  sentimental  journey  round  all  my  old 
haunts  and  impressions.  Your  moral  is  bold  and 
most  true,  — 

"  Man  cannot  stand,  —  he  must  advance,  or  fall, 
And  sometimes,  falling,  makes  most  way  of  all  !  " 

Had  you  any  real  "  Tale  of  Horrors  "  in  your  mind, 
as  the  solution  of  your  enigma  ?  Where  are  you  ? 
Shall  we  meet  ? 

Yours  very  truly, 

KlCIID.  MONCKTON  MlLNES. 

—  Mr.  Henry  Bright's  review  of  "  Transformation  " 
followed  generally  the  lines  of  his  letter,  though  the 
grumbling  was  toned  down  to  a  mild  remonstrance. 
But  I  will  append  extracts  from  the  "  Athenaeum's  " 
(Mr.  Chorley's)  notice,  and  from  that  in  the  "  Satur 
day  Eeview,"  which  is  amusingly  characteristic. 

"  To  Mr.  Hawthorne  truth  always  seems  to  arrive 
through  the  medium  of  the  imagination.  .  .  .  His 
hero,  the  Count  of  Monte  Beni,  would  never  have 
lived  had  not  the  Faun  of  Praxiteles  stirred  the 
author's  admiration.  .  .  .  The  other  characters,  Mr. 
Hawthorne  must  bear  to  be  told,  are  not  new  to  a 
tale  of  his.  Miriam,  the  mysterious,  with  her  hid 
eous  tormentor,  was  indicated  in  the  Zenobia  of  'The 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN.  245 

f>lithedale  Komance,'  —  HildaA  the  pure  and  inno 
cent,  is  own  cousin  to  Phoebe  in  '  The  House  of  the 
Seven  Gables/  —  Kenyon,  the  sculptor,  though  care 
fully  wrought  out,  is  a  stone  image,  with  little  that 
appeals  to  our  experience  of  men."  —  Of  the  plot  the 
writer  says :  "  We  know  of  little  in  romance  more 
inconclusive  and  hazy  than  the  manner  in  which  the 
tale  is  brought  to  a  close.  Hints  will  not  suffice  to 
satisfy  interest  which  has  been  excited  to  voracity. 
.  .  .  Hilda  and  Kenyon  marry,  as  it  was  to  be  seen 
they  would  do  on  the  first  page ;  but  the  secret  of 
Miriam's  agony  and  unrest,  the  manner  of  final  ex 
trication  from  it,  for  herself  and  the  gay  Faun,  who 
shed  blood  to  defend  her,  then  grew  sad  and  human 
under  the  consciousness  of  the  stain,  are  all  left  too 
vaporously  involved  in  suggestion  to  satisfy  any  one 
whose  blood  has  turned  back  at  the  admirable,  clear, 
and  forcible  last  scenes  of  '  The  Scarlet  Letter.' " 

—  This  was  the  best  Mr.  Chorley  could  do,  under 
his  sense  of  disappointment ;  and  no  doubt  he  might 
have  done  worse.  But  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  who  had 
formed  a  high  idea  of  the  clever  little  critic's  ability, 
was  not  satisfied  to  let  his  exceptions  pass  without 
a  protest.  It  was  a  part  of  her  creed  that  agreeable 
people  would  always  take  just  views  of  things  if  they 
were  afforded  a  proper  opportunity ;  and  she  had 
found  Mr.  Chorley  very  agreeable.  So  she  sat  down 
and  wrote  him  the  following  letter,  which,  were  he 
conscious  of  error,  might,  one  would  fancy,  have  con 
soled  him  for  having  fallen  into  it.  Whether  or  not 


246  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

he  made  amends,  there  is  nothing  to  show ;  his 
swer,  if  he  wrote  one,  not  having  been  preserved. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  CHORLEY,  —  Why  do  you  run  with 
your  fine  lance  directly  into  the  face  of  Hilda  ?  You 
were  so  fierce  and  wrathful  at  being  shut  out  from  the 
mysteries  (for  which  we  are  all  disappointed),  that 
you  struck  in  your  spurs  and  plunged  with  your  visor 
down.  For,  in  deed  and  in  truth,  Hilda  is  not  Phoebe, 
no  more  than  a  wild  rose  is  a  calla  lily.  They  are 
alike  only  in  purity  and  innocence ;  and  I  am  sure 
you  will  see  this  whenever  you  read  the  romance 
a  second  time.  I  am  very  much  grieved  that  Mr. 
Chorley  should  seem  not  to  be  nicely  discriminating ; 
for  what  are  we  to  do  in  that  case  ?  The  artistic,  pen 
sive,  reserved,  contemplative,  delicately  appreciative 
Hilda  can  in  no  wise  be  related  to  the  enchanting  lit 
tle  housewife,  whose  energy,  radiance,  and  eglantine 
sweetness  fill  her  daily  homely  duties  with  joy, 
animation,  and  fragrance.  Tell  me,  then,  is  it  not 
so  ?  I  utterly  protest  against  being  supposed  partial 
because  I  am  Mrs.  Hawthorne.  But  it  is  so  very 
naughty  of  you  to  demolish  this  new  growth  in  such 
a  hurry,  that  I  cannot  help  a  disclaimer ;  and  I  am 
so  sure  of  your  friendliness  and  largeness,  that  I  am 
not  in  the  least  afraid.  You  took  all  the  fright  out 
of  me  by  that  exquisite,  gemlike,  aesthetic  dinner  and 
tea  which  you  gave  us  at  the  fairest  of  houses  last 
summer.  It  was  a  prettier  and  more  mignonne  thing 
than  I  thought  could  happen  in  London ;  so  safe 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN.  247 

and  so  quiet,  and  so  very  satisfactory,  with  the  light 
of  thought  playing  all  about.  I  have  a  good  deal  of 
fight  left  in  me  still  about  Kenyon,  and  the  "of 
course  "  union  of  Kenyon  and  Hilda ;  but  I  will  not 
say  more,  except  that  Mr.  Hawthorne  had  no  idea 
that  they  were  destined  for  each  other.  Mr.  Haw 
thorne  is  driven  by  his  muse,  but  does  not  drive  her ; 
and  I  have  known  him  to  be  in  an  inextricable  doubt, 
in  the  midst  of  a  book  or  sketch,  as  to  its  probable 
issue,  waiting  upon  the  muse  for  the  rounding  in  of 
the  sphere  which  every  true  work  of  art  is.  I  am 
surprised  to  find  that  Mr.  Hawthorne  was  so  absorbed 
in  Italy  that  he  had  no  idea  that  the  story,  as  such, 
was  interesting !  and  therefore  is  somewhat  absolved 
for  having  "  excited  our  interest  to  voracity." ...  I 
dare  say  you  are  laughing  (gently)  at  my  explosion  of 
small  muskets.  But  I  feel  more  comfortable  now  I 
have  discharged  a  little  of  my  opposition.  With  sin 
cere  regard  I  am,  dear  Mr.  Chorley, 
Yours, 

SOPHIA  HAWTHORNE. 

—  On  the  blank  page  Mr.  Hawthorne  added  the 
following :  — 

DEAR  MR.  CHORLEY,  —  You  see  how  fortunate  I 
am  in  having  a  critic  close  at  hand,  whose  favorable 
verdict  consoles  me  for  any  lack  of  appreciation  in 
other  quarters.  Really,  I  think  you  were  wrong  in 
assaulting  the  individuality  of  my  poor  Hilda.  If 
her  portrait  bears  any  resemblance  to  that  of  Phcebe, 


248  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

it  must  be  the  fault  of  my  mannerism  as  a  painter. 
But  I  thank  you  for  the  kind  spirit  of  your  notice ; 
and  if  you  had  found  ten  times  as  much  fault,  you 
are  amply  entitled  to  do  so  by  the  quantity  of 
generous  praise  heretofore  bestowed. 
Sincerely  yours, 

NATH.  HAWTHORNE. 

—  Hawthorne  had  sent  a  copy  of  the  book  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall,  who  had  received  it  as  coming 
from  the  publishers,  and  Mr.  Hall  reviewed  it  in  the 
art  periodical  of  which  he  was  at  that  time  the  edi 
tor,  but  made  no  communication  to  Hawthorne  on 
the  subject.  Subsequently,  however,  the  fact  of  the 
book's  having  been  an  "  author's  copy  "  carne  out,  and 
Mrs.  Hall  wrote  :  — 

I  wish  I  could  prevail  on  you  to  come  to  us 
on  the  30th.  I  will  write  and  ask  dear  Mrs.  Haw 
thorne  to  give  you  her  sanction  —  for  one  day  more, 
if  she  will  but  do  so.  It  is  sad  to  think  we  cannot 
have  you  together,  that  one  evening ;  but,  if  to  have 
both  is  impossible,  do  please  come  yourself.  Mr. 
Bennoch  wrote  me  that  you  were  so  kind  and  gra 
cious  as  to  send  me  your  book.  I  only  heard  that  on 
Saturday.  Mr.  Hall  thought  it  came  as  usual  from 
the  publishers,  —  with  the  line  written  by  them  "  from 
the  author," — and  he  reviewed  it  in  the  "Art  Journal." 
I  took  up  my  pen  more  than  once  to  thank  you  most 
gratefully  for  the  intense  enjoyment  the  book  gave  us, 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN.  249 

—  eloquent  and  poetic  and  thoughtful  as  it  is,  —  such 
a  glory  of  a  book  !  —  but  I  imagined  again  you  might 
think  it  presumptuous,  and  so  I  restrained  myself, 
little  thinking  the  book  was  mine  from  its  gifted 
author !  Please,  when  you  dine  with  us  on  the  30th, 
you  must  write  my  name  in  it.  Mr.  Hall  would  call 
on  you  if  you  would  graciously  fix  an  hour  to  receive 
him. 

My  dear  sir,  with  great  admiration,  sincerely  yours 

AITNA  M.  HALL. 

—  This  was  as  flattering  as  the  most  exacting 
romancer  could  desire  ;  and  Mr.  Hall  took  pains  to 
express  his  enthusiasm  over  the  romance  in  no  less 
measured  terms,  and  gave  it  to  be  understood  that  his 
review  of  it  had  been  the  deliberate  concentration  of 
his  spoken  delight.  The  review  itself,  however,  was 
not  produced,  for  some  unexplained  reason,  and  Haw 
thorne  never  saw  it.  Twenty  years  afterwards  the 
present  writer  met  Mr.  Hall  in  London,  when  the 
latter,  in  the  course  of  conversation,  recurred  to 
the  above  episode,  and  gave  a  glowing  reminiscence 
of  the  criticism  in  the  "  Art  Journal."  It  so  happened, 
however,  that  I  was  shortly  afterwards  in  the  house 
of  a  friend,  in  whose  library  I  found  a  complete  edi 
tion  of  the  volumes  of  the  "  Art  Journal ; "  and  it 
occurred  to  me  to  look  up  the  famous  review  of  "  Trans 
formation."  It  was  a  brief  notice,  and  began  as 
follows :  — 

"  We  are  not  to  accept  this  book  as  a  story ;  in  that 


250  HAWTHORNE  AND   HIS    WIFE. 

respect  it  is  grievously  deficient.  The  characters  are 
utterly  untrue  to  nature  and  to  fact ;  they  speak,  all 
and  always,  the  sentiments  of  the  author ;  their  words 
also  are  his ;  there  is  no  one  of  them  for  which  the 
world  has  furnished  a  model."  —  The  reviewer  then 
goes  on  to  commend  some  of  the  descriptions  of  scen 
ery,  and  so  concludes.  No  doubt  the  "  review  "  ex 
pressed  Mr.  Hall's  genuine  opinion ;  but  it  is  perplexing 
that  he  should  so  promptly  have  forgotten  what  that 
opinion  was,  and  even  have  imagined  it  to  be  quite 
the  opposite  of  what  is  here  recorded.  But  the  inci 
dent  is  so  characteristic  of  Mr.  Hall  that  no  one  who 
has  had  the  pleasure  of  knowing  him  will  be  surprised 
at  it.  His  temperamental  tendency  to  paint  the  lily 
of  truth  is  beyond  his  control  and  even  beyond  his 
consciousness.  I  recollect  his  having  related,  before 
a  company  of  gentlemen  at  dinner,  an  anecdote  of 
"  myself  and  my  friend  Hawthorne,"  which  was  accu 
rate  enough  in  all  particulars,  except  that  the  "my 
self  "  in  question  happened  to  have  been,  not  Mr.  Hall, 
but  another  gentleman,  there  present,  and  occupying 
the  next  chair  to  my  own. 

The  "  Saturday  Review "  notice  appeared  on  the 
same  day  as  that  in  the  "  Athenaeum,"  and  is  worth 
recalling  as  another  thoroughly  English  effort  to  deal 
with  an  abstruse  problem.  We  are  told  that  "a  mys 
tery  is  set  before  us  to  unriddle,  and  at  the  end  the 
author  turns  round  and  asks  us  what  is  the  good  of 
solving  it.  That  the  impression  of  emptiness  and 
unmeaningness  thus  produced  is  in  itself  a  blemish  to 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN.  251 

the  work,  no  one  can  deny.  Mr.  Hawthorne  really 
trades  upon  the  honesty  of  other  writers.  We  feel  a 
sort  of  interest  in  the  story,  slightly  and  sketchily  as 
it  is  told,  because  our  experience  of  other  novels  leads 
us  to  assume  that,  when  an  author  pretends  to  have 
a  plot,  he  has  one."  The  reviewer  goes  on  to  say  that, 
in  regard  to  Donatello,  "  Mr.  Hawthorne  does  not  re 
frain  from  giving  the  loosest  rein  to  his  fancy;"  while 
as  for  "  Miriani "  (as  the  name  is  printed  throughout 
the  article),  — "  the  lady  for  whom  this  unhappy 
animal  conceives  a  passionate  love,"  —  she  "  belongs 
scarcely  less  to  the  region  of  pure  fancy.  She  first 
presents  herself  as  an  artist ;  and  it  appears  to  be  ac 
cepted  as  an  axiom  in  every  description  of  artist  life 
that  a  man  or  woman  who  paints  pictures  or  moulds 
clay  is  released  from  all  the  ties  and  burdens  of  life, 
—  that  it  is  impertinent  to  inquire  whence  they  came 
or  how  they  live,  or  with  whom  or  on  what."  "Hilda  " 
is  "  the  type  of  high-souled  innocence,  purity,  and  vir 
gin  modesty.  She  also  is  an  artist ;  and  we  are  there 
fore  supposed  not  to  feel  surprise  at  finding  that  she 
lives,  without  any  one  to  protect  her,  at  the  top  of  a 
high  tower  in  the  centre  of  Eome,  where  she  feeds  a 
brood  of  milky  doves,  and  keeps  a  lamp  burning  in 
honor  of  the  Virgin.  ...  A  lover  is  assigned  her,  both 
that  his  successful  love  may  mitigate  the  blackness  of 
the  story,  and  also  because,  as  he  is  a  sculptor,  Mr. 
Hawthorne  has  the  pleasure  of  describing  the  real 
works  of  American  sculptors  at  Koine  under  the 
fiction  that  they  were  the  creations  of  the  imagi- 


252  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

nary  artist."  The  reviewer  goes  on  to  remark  that 
"  Mr.  Hawthorne  seems  to  have  been  greatly  attracted 
by  Catholicism.  ...  No  one  could  fall  more  entirely 
than  Mr.  Hawthorne  into  the  modern  fashion  of  ask 
ing,  not  whether  a  religion  is  true,  but  whether  it  is 
suitable  to  a  particular  individual.  ...  As  it  happens, 
however,  the  same  sensibility  that  attracts  him  to 
Catholicism  also  repels  him  from  it;  and  when  he 
ceases  to  reason  he  is  as  little  able  to  make  allow 
ances  where  they  are  due  as  to  discover  faults  where 
they  exist.  It  is  the  priests  and  the  Papal  Govern 
ment  that  seem  to  have  scared  Mr.  Hawthorne  from 
the  Romish  Church.  They  are  such  poor,  mean  crea 
tures,  and  the  Papal  Government  produced  so  much 
misery,  poverty,  and  dirt,  that,  as  the  clean  citizen  of 
a  State  accustomed  to  make  its  own  way  in  the  world, 
he  would  not  mix  himself  up  with  what  he  so  thor 
oughly  despised.  His  Protestantism  seems  to  have 
been  greatly  indebted  to  the  theory  in  which  he  finally 
rested,  —  that  the  Papal  system  is  dying  out."  But, 
although  feeling  constrained  thus  to  condemn  the 
characters,  plot,  and  sentiment  of  the  romance,  the 
reviewer  awards  it  high  praise  as  "a  tourist's 
sketch,"  and  "we  may  add  that  the  style  is  singu 
larly  beautiful,  the  writing  most  careful,  and  the 
justness  and  felicity  of  the  epithets  used  to  convey 
the  effect  of  scenery  unusually  great.  The  Ameri 
cans  may  be  proud  that  they  have  produced  a 
writer  who,  in  his  own  special  walk  of  English,  has 
few  rivals  or  equals  in  the  mother  country,  and  they 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN.  253 

may  perhaps  allow  this  excellence  to  atone  for  the 
sincere  contempt  with  which  he  evidently  regards  the 
large  majority  of  his  countrymen  who  show  themselves 
on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic." 

—  This  must  suffice  as  an  exposition  of  the  English 
attitude  towards  "  Transformation  "  at  the  time  of  its 
first  appearance ;  for  the  following  poetic  tribute  to 
the  writer,  though  emanating  from  the  pen  of  a  born 
Londoner,  Mr.  William  Bennett,  can  hardly  be  con 
sidered  English  in  its  tone.  Mr.  Bennett,  it  will  be 
remembered,  had  always  been  among  the  most  sincere 
of  Hawthorne's  admirers,  and  he  did  not  fail  now  to 
avouch  that  admiration  in  the  heartiest  terms  at  his 
command.  As  a  poem,  the  writing  may  perhaps  be 
open  to  criticism ;  but  as  an  honest  and  cordial  effort 
at  appreciation  and  friendly  sympathy,  it  is  well 
worth  preserving. 


0  mightiest  name  of  Death,  —  0  awful  Rome,  — 
How  has  he  writ,  in  marble,  on  thy  hills 
His  presence  !     Death  thy  stony  valleys  fills  ; 
There,  with  the  ghostly  past,  he  makes  his  home  ; 
Yet,  in  the  shadow  of  thy  mighty  dome, 
What  life  eternal  lives  —  a  breath  that  stills 
His  boasts  to  dumbness,  and  thy  conqueror  kills. 
Who  breathe  thy  air,  deathless  henceforth  become  ; 
For  ears  that  hear,  thy  lips  have  mystic  lore ; 
To  those  who  question  thee,  in  the  weird  might 
Of  genius,  lo,  thy  thousand  tongues  restore 
The  spells  that  scare  oblivion  to  flight  ; 
Greatness  is  in  thy  touch.     Lo,  here  once  more 
To  one  thou  givest  thy  glory  as  his  right. 


254  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 


ii. 

Here  is  the  life  of  Rome  ;  —  the  air  of  death, 

Silence  and  solitude  and  awe,  are  here, 

Spectres  of  grandeur,  at  whose  bygone  breath 

Earth  stilled  and  trembled,  from  these  leaves  appear  ; 

From  these  weird  words  steal  wonder  and  strange  fear, 

An  awful  past,  which  he  who  listeneth 

In- solemn  awe,  with  trembling  heart,  may  hear, 

Hearing  what  from  her  stones  the  bygone  saith. 

Here  is  the  double  life  that  haunts  Rome's  hills, 

Power  spelt  in  ruins,  art  that  wreathes  all  time, 

Beauty  eternal  that  the  rapt  air  fills 

With  reverence  from  fit  souls  from  every  clime. 

Hawthorne,  henceforth,  here,  with  life's  joys  and  ills, 

Rome's  thoughts  are  with  me,  and  her  dreams  sublime. 

in. 

"  From  evils,  goods,  —  from  sin  and  sorrow,  peace, 
A  holier  future,  and  a  loftier  faith,"  — 
This  to  the  soul  thy  mystic  volume  saith, 
Hawthorne,  and  bids  doubt's  spectral  night  to  ceasi, 
Offering  from  its  dread  gloom  what  bless' d  release  ! 
If  any  say,  "  Evil  accuses  Him 
From  whom  is  all,  of  evil,"  here,  in  dim, 
Wan  characters  is  writ,  "Good  hath  increase 
Even  from  the  stifling  ill  with  which  it  strives  ; 
God's  wisdom  is  not  ours.     From  blackest  ill 
Souls,  sorrow-deepened,'  have  won  whitest  lives  ; 
Bless  Him  for  all  things  :  all  things  are  His  will. 
His  stroke  the  granite  of  our  hearts  but  rives, 
That  light  may  enter  and  His  ends  fulfil." 

W.  BENNETT. 

Early   in   May,   Hawthorne   wrote   the   following 
letter  to  Henry  Bright :  — 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN.  255 

13  CHARLES  STREET,  BATH,  May  5,  1860. 

DEAR  MR.  BRIGHT,  —  Here  is  Mr.  Lempriere  Ham 
mond's  very  kind  note.  Under  your  auspices,  I 
think  I  may  venture  to  accept  his  hospitality,  and 
I  should  be  delighted  to  spend  one  night  within  the 
walls  of  Trinity.  Is  Mr.  Hammond  a  descendant  of 
Lempriere's  Classical  Dictionary?  —  or  perchance  a 
mythical  personage  ?  Do  not  let  him  hear  of  this 
foolish  query ;  for  people  are  as  touchy  about  their 
names  as  a  cat  about  her  tail. 

I  mean  to  go  to  London  either  the  latter  part  of  next 
week  or  the  first  of  the  succeeding  one.  Part  of  the 
time  I  shall  be  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Motley  (the  Dutch 
historian),  31  Hertford  Street.  It  is  not  my  purpose 
to  return  to  Bath  till  after  our  visit  to  Cambridge. 

You  will  not  find  any  photograph  nor  (so  far  as  I 
am  aware)  any  engraving  of  the  Faun  of  Praxiteles. 
There  are  photographs,  stereoscopic  and  otherwise,  of 
another  Faun,  which  is  almost  identical  with  the  hero 
of  m'y  romance,  though  only  an  inferior  repetition  of 
it.  My  Faun  is  in  the  Capitol ;  the  other,  in  the 
Vatican.  The  genuine  statue  has  never  been  photo 
graphed,  on  account,  I  suppose,  of  its  standing  in  a 
bad  light.  The  photograph  of  the  Vatican  Faun  sup 
plies  its  place  very  well,  except  as  to  the  face,  which 
is  very  inferior. 

I  think  your  club  is  the  Oxford  and  Cambridge. 
When  I  come  to  London,  I  shall  send  or  call  there 
unless  I  otherwise  hear  of  you. 

Truly  yours,  NATH.  HAWTHORNE. 


256  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

—  Soon  after  his  arrival  (on  the  16th),  they  took 
breakfast  with  Monckton  Milnes,  meeting  Lady  Gal- 
way,  Thirl  wall  (Bishop  of  Saint  David's),  and  one  or 
two  more  ;  and,  on  the  19th,  went  to  Mayal,  the  pho 
tographer,  where  Hawthorne  sat  for  his  photograph 
(the  same  that  has  been  etched  for  this  work).  In 
regard  to  this  photograph,  by  the  by,  an  erroneous 
story  has  gone  abroad,  which  it  may  be  as  well  to 
correct.  I  know  not  by  whom  it  was  originally  in 
vented;  but  I  find  it  quoted  from  the  "Salem  Gazette" 
as  follows :  "  J.  Lothrop  Motley,  who  well  knew  Haw 
thorne's  aversion  to  photographic  processes,  set  a  trap 
for  his  friend  in  this  wise.  He  invited  him  to  walk 
one  day  in  London;  and  as  they  were  passing  the 
studio  of  a  well-known  photographer,  Motley  asked 
Hawthorne  to  step  in  and  make  a  selection  from 
some  pictures  of  himself,  which  were  ready,  he  sup 
posed,  for  examination.  They  entered,  chatting  pleas 
antly  together,  Hawthorne  at  the  time  being  in  the 
best  of  spirits.  Dropping  into  a  chair,  which  Motley 
placed  for  him,  he  looked  brightly  after  his  friend 
disappearing  behind  a  screen  in  quest  of  the  proofs. 
At  this  moment,  and  with  this  look  of  animation 
upon  his  face,  the  photograph  referred  to  was  taken, 
the  artist  having  made  all  necessary  preparations 
to  capture  a  likeness  from  the  unsuspecting  sitter. 
Motley's  proofs  were  produced  and  examined,  and 
Hawthorne  was  never  told  that  he  had  been  taken. 
This  was  shortly  before  the  family  returned  home. 
One  of  the  children,  it  seems,  —  I  think  it  was  the 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN.  257 

ethereal  Una,  —  had  seen  the  surreptitious  picture 
at  Motley's  or  at  Bennoch's,  and  on  the  homeward 
voyage  she  referred  to  it.  and  said  it  was  a  beautiful 
likeness,  far  better  than  she  had  ever  seen  before. 
Hawthorne,  of  course,  was  incredulous,  and  assured 
his  wife  that  the  child  must  be  mistaken.  After 
her  husband's  death,  Mrs.  Hawthorne  became  ac 
quainted  with  the  facts  as  above  narrated,  and  at  her 
earnest  entreaty  the  photograph  was  sent  to  her." 

This  story  is  a  real  curiosity  in  fabrication.  There 
is  not  one  syllable  of  truth  in  it  from  beginning  to 
end;  but  the  ingenious  and  elaborate  manner  in 
which  it  is  worked  up  from  point  to  point  is  remark 
able,  showing  as  it  does  that  the  writer  was  in  no 
respect  laboring  under  a  misapprehension,  or  suffering 
from  a  defective  memory  or  incomplete  information, 
but  that  he  was  consciously  inventing  all  the  way 
through,  and  enjoying  his  invention.  The  real  facts 
are  as  follows,  —  I  will  quote  the  entire  passage  from 
a  recent  letter  from  Henry  Bright  to  me :  "  The  ac 
count  of  the  photograph  being  taken  for  Mr.  Motley 
is  quite  wrong.  I  went  with  Hawthorne  to  the  pho 
tographer  (Mayal),  as  he  had  promised  me  a  photo 
graph  of  himself.  He  gave  his  name,  and  Mayal 
came  up  in  a  great  state  of  excitement.  Hawthorne 
got  very  shy,  and  grasped  his  umbrella  as  if  it  were 
the  last  friend  left  him.  This,  of  course,  was  taken 
away  from  him  by  the  photographer,  and  a  table  with 
a  book  on  it  was  put  in  its  place.  '  Now,  sir,'  said 
Mayal,  'please  to  look  intense!'  He  was  afterwards 

VOL.  II.  17 


258  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

told  to  look  smiling  (at  the  portrait  of  a  lady !).  I 
chose  the  'intense'  one,  and  afterwards  had  a  copy 
taken  of  it  for  a  friend  of  Hawthorne.  I  am  amused 
to  find  (in  the  current  anecdote)  that,  Mr.  Motley 
attracted  Hawthorne's  attention  '  at  the  critical  mo 
ment.'  This  is  quite  imaginative ;  for  Mayal  insisted 
on  my  going  behind  a  screen,  where  your  father 
could  not  see  me.  After  your  father's  death  the 
photograph  was  engraved,  and  I  sent  other  copies  to 
your  mother,  Mr.  Longfellow,  and  one  or  two  more. 
The  original  (there  was  only  one  taken  at  the  time) 
hangs  in  my  own  room."  —  It  may  be  worth  noting, 
for  those  who  are  interested  in  coincidences,  that 
the  19th  of  May,  four  years  afterwards,  was  the  date 
of  Hawthorne's  death.  The  note  which  Bright  had 
sent  to  Hawthorne  the  previous  day,  reminding  him 
of  his  appointment,  runs  thus  :  — 

THURSDAY,  May  18, 1860. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  HAWTHORNE,  —  If  to-morrow  is  sun 
shiny  enough  to  photograph  you,  and  if  you  are  not 
otherwise  engaged,  well,  let  us  get  it  done !  I  shall 
be  here  (Oxford  and  Cambridge  Club)  at  twelve,  and 
again  at  four,  if  you  will  look  in  at  either  time. 
Milnes  says  I  am  to  bring  you  punctually  at  ten  on 
Saturday;  so  I  will  call  for  you  five  minutes  before. 
It  is  no  party;  and  Mrs,  Milnes,  who  has  just  come, 
will  be  there.  I  was  very  glad  indeed  to  see  Mr. 
Motley  last  night. 

Ever  yours,          II.  A.  BRIGHT. 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN.  259 

—  On  the  following  evening  Hawthorne  was  at  the 
Cosmopolitan  Club,  where  he  and  Mr.  Layard  found 
a  great  deal  to  say  to  each  other ;  and  on  the  25th  of 
May  he  left  London  for  Cambridge,  by  previous  ap 
pointment  with  Bright,  who  was  to  receive  his  mas 
ter's  degree  there.     Mr.  Bright  says  :  "  My  old  friend, 
Lempriere  Hammond  (well  known  at  Cambridge),  got 
rooms  for  him  in  the  oldest  part  of  the  old  Court  of 
Trinity.     I  remember  how  amused  Hawthorne  was  to 
find  that  the  room  had  been  so  dark  that  he  had  lost 
his  umbrella  —  the  precious  umbrella  —  in  it  for  two 
days !     He  was  much  delighted  with  Cambridge,  and 
saw  everything,  including  Cromwell's  picture  in  Syd 
ney  College,  and  '  Byron's  Pool.'     He  also  visited  the 
Union.     Our  best  friends  there  were  Hammond,  and 
that  most  accomplished  of  Cambridge  men  (whose 
too  early  death  was  a  real  loss  to  the  University), 
W.  G.  Clark,  the  public  orator,  and  afterwards  vice- 
master  of  Trinity." 

—  Hawthorne  has  himself  given  some  impressions 
of  this  excursion  in  a  letter  to  his  daughter.     The 
"  Uncle  John  "  referred  to  is  John  0' Sullivan. 

TRINITY  COLLEGE,  CAMBRIDGE,  May  25,  1860. 

DEAR  UNA, —  I  am  established  here  in  an  ancient 
set  of  college  rooms,  which  happen  to  be  temporarily 
vacated  by  the  rightful  possessor.  I  arrived  yesterday 
evening,  and  am  pretty  well  wearied  by  a  day  of  sight 
seeing,  —  as  you  may  suppose,  Mr.  Bright  being  the 
cicerone.  I  snatch  just  this  moment  to  write,  before 


260  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

going  to  dine  with  one  of  the  fellows  of  the  college. 
You  ask  about  Uncle  John.  I  have  very  little  to  say 
on  that  subject,  except  that  I  called  at  his  hotel  some 
days  ago,  and  found  him  not  there ;  and  shortly  after 
received  a  note,  informing  me  that  he  had  left  for  the 
Continent.  I  think  you  had  better  intermit  writing 
to  him  till  we  hear  more.  I  shall  return  to  London 
on  Monday  morning,  go  to  Canterbury  the  same  day, 
return  to  Bermoch's  the  next  day  (Tuesday),  and 
probably  stay  there  till  Thursday  morning,  when  I  am 
resolved  to  come  home.  I  have  received  an  invitation 
to  dine  with  Smith  and  Elder,  and  meet  the  contribu 
tors  to  the  "  Cornhill  Magazine  ; "  but  I  declined  it, 
being  tired  to  deatli  of  dinners,  and  longing  to  see 
you  all  again ;  and  this  dinner  would  detain  me  an 
other  weary  day.  You  had  better  direct  your  next 
letter  to  the  care  of  Bennoch,  unless  there  should  be 
urgent  need  of  communicating  with  me  between  now 
and  Monday,  in  which  case  you  might  direct  to  the 
care  of  Lempriere  Hammond,  Esq.,  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge.  But  I  trust  there  will  be  no  necessity 
for  this.  I  long  to  see  you  all  again,  for  it  seems  ages 
since  I  went  away.  I  heard  a  nightingale  —  two  or 
three,  indeed  —  last  night !  Give  my  best  love  to 
mamma,  and  very  warm  love  to  Julian,  Rosebud,  and 
yourself.  Affectionately  yours, 

NATII.  HAWTHORNE. 

—  He  returned  to  Bath  about  the  1st  June,  and 
we  shortly  afterwards  set  out  for  Liverpool,  whence, 


THE  MARBLE  FAUN.  261 

after  a  brief  sojourn  at  Mrs.  Blodgett's,  we  embarked 
for  Boston,  under  the  captaincy  of  our  old  friend  Leitch, 
After  a  pleasant  voyage  of  ten  days,  we  were  safely 
landed  at  our  destination. 


262  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS 'WIFE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  WAYSIDE  AND  THE  WAR, 

IT  was  a  hot  day  towards  the  close  of  June,  1860, 
when  Hawthorne  alighted  from  the  train  at  Concord 
station,  and  drove  up  in  the  railway  wagon  to  the 
Wayside.  The  fields  looked  brown,  the  trees  were 
dusty,  and  the  sun  white  and  brilliant.  At  certain 
seasons  in  Concord  the  heat  in  summer  stagnates  and 
simmers,  until  it  seems  as  if  nothing  but  a  grass 
hopper  could  live.  The  water  in  the  river  is  so  warm 
that  to  bathe  in  it  is  merely  to  exchange  one  kind 
of  heat  for  another.  The  very  shadow  of  the  trees  is 
torrid ;  and  I  have  known  the  thermometer  to  touch 
112°  in  the  shade.  No  breeze  stirs  throughout  the 
long,  sultry  day ;  and  the  feverish  nights  bring  mos 
quitoes,  but  no  relief.  To  come  from  the  salt  fre.sh- 
ness  of  the  Atlantic  into  this  living  oven  is  a  startling 
change,  especially  when  one  has  his  memory  full  of 
cool,  green  England.  Such  was  America's  first  greet 
ing  to  Hawthorne,  on  his  return  from  a  seven  years' 
absence ;  it  was  to  this  that  he  had  looked  forward  so 
lovingly  and  so  long.  As  he  passed  one  little  wooden 
house  after  another,  with  their  white  clapboards  and 
their  green  blinds,  perhaps  he  found  his  thoughts  not 


THE    WAYSIDE  AND  THE    WAR.  263 

quite  so  cloudless  as  the   sky.      It  is  dangerous  to 
have  a  home;   too  much  is  required  of  it. 

The  Wayside,  however,  was  not  white ;  it  was 
painted  a  dingy  buff  color.  The  larches  and  Norway 
pines,  several,  hundred  of  which  had  been  sent  out 
from  England,  were  planted  along  the  paths,  and 
were  for  the  most  part  doing  well.  The  well-remem 
bered  hillside,  with  its  rude  terraces,  shadowed  by 
apple-trees,  and  its  summit  green  with  pines,  rose 
behind  the  house  ;  and  in  front,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  highway,  extended  a  broad  meadow  of  seven  acres, 
bounded  by  a  brook,  above  which  hung  drooping  wil 
lows.  It  was,  upon  the  whole,  as  pleasant  a  place  as 
any  in  the  village,  and  much  might  be  done  to  enhance 
its  beauty.  It  had  been  occupied,  during  our  absence, 
by  a  brother  of  Mrs.  Hawthorne ;  and  the  house  itself 
was  in  excellent  order,  and  looked  just  the  same  as 
in  our  last  memory  of  it.  A  good  many  alterations 
have  been  made  since  then ;  another  story  was  added 
to  the  western  wing,  the  tower  was  built  up  behind, 
and  two  other  rooms  were  put  on  in  the  rear.  These 
changes,  together  with  some  modifications  about  the 
place,  such  as  the  opening  up  of  paths,  the  cutting 
down  of  some  trees,  and  the  planting  of  others,  were 
among  the  last  things  that  engaged  Hawthorne's 
attention  in  this  life. 

The  John  Brown  episode  had  just  taken  place,  and 
Mr.  Frank  Sanborn,  a  citizen  of  Concord,  and  the 
principal  of  a  private  school  there,  had  taken  a  prom 
inent  part  in  connection  with  it.  It  was  to  this 


264  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

school  that  Hawthorne  sent  his  son,  being  specially 
moved  thereto  by  the  following  letter  from  Ellery 
Charming :  — 

CONCORD,  Sept.  3,  1860. 

MY  DEAR  HAWTHORNE,  —  In  numbering  over  the 
things  that  had  been  added  to  the  town,  t'  other  day, 
I  left  out  the  first  and  best,  which  is,  the  school  for 
girls  and  boys,  under  the  charge  of  Mr.  Sanborn.  No 
words  that  I  could  use  on  this  occasion  could  do  jus 
tice  to  his  happy  influence  on  the  characters  of  those 
confided  to  him,  and  more  especially  of  the  girls.  He 
has  supplied  a  want  long  felt  here,  and,  by  having  a 
school  for  young  children,  leaves  nothing  to  be  de 
sired.  His  scholars  are  from  desirable  families,  and 
many  of  them  are  very  attractive  and  pleasing  per 
sons.  The  mere  fact  of  associating  with  him  and 
those  he  has  drawn  about  him  I  should  regard  as  a 
matter  of  first  importance.  I  have  never  heard  of  a 
school  before  where  there  was  so  much  to  please  and 
so  little  to  offend,  and  in  this  country,  to  every  one 
who  purposes  to  take  the  least  part  in  any  social 
affairs,  the  value  of  a  good  school  is  unquestioned. 
Our  school-days  are  the  days  of  our  life  ;  it  is  then  we 
learn  all  we  ever  know,  and  without  these  mimic  con 
tests,  these  services,  sports,  and  petty  grievances, 
what  were  all  the  after  days  !  If  you  were  as  inti 
mate  with  Mr.  Sanboru  as  I  have  the  good  fortune  to 
be,  I  think  nothing  would  give  you  so  much  satisfac 
tion  as  to  have  such  nice  girls  as  yours  seem  to  be 
directly  under  his  charge.  Nothing  seems  to  me 


THE  WAYSIDE  AND  THE   WAR.  265 

more  unfortunate  in  this  land  of  activity  than  to 
bring  up  children  in  seclusion,  without  the  invaluable 
discipline  that  a  good  school  presents.  Forgive  me 
for  dwelling  a  little  on  this,  out  of  regard  to  Mr.  San- 
born,  who  deserves  to  be  sustained.  I  was  greatly 
pleased  with  the  success  of  your  last  book,  "  The  Mar 
ble  Faun."  It  seemed  to  me  at  first,  until  I  got  well 
a-going,  a  little  difficult  to.  seize  the  thread ;  but 
when  I  once  found  it,  I  went  rapidly  forward  unto 
the  end.  I  always  consider  the  rapidity  with  which 
I  can  read  a  story  the  test  of  its  merit,  at  least  for 
me.  Many  others  have  spoken  to  me  of  its  effect  on 
them.  I  greatly  enjoyed  the  Italian  criticism.  As 
a  matter  of  art,  there  is  possibly  always  a  certain 
danger  in  combining  didactic  and  dramatic  situations ; 
but  if  any  field  is  open  to  this,  it  should  be  Italy. 
"  Corinne,"  I  think,  deals  in  character  rather  than 
•criticism.  I  should  be  ashamed  to  tell  you  how 
often  I  have  read  "The  Marble  Faun,"  or  "The 
Blithedale  Komance."  The  latter  is,  I  think,  of  all 
your  pieces  the  one  I  like  the  best.  No  book  was 
ever  printed  containing  better  effects  for  illustration. 
I  also  have  often  read  over  the  sorrows  of  Auiit 
Hepzibah. 

I  am  a  little  late  in  welcoming  you  back  to  the  stern 
and  simple  fields  of  this  ancient  Puritan  land ;  but  a 
traveller  is  like  coffee,  and  needs  to  be  well  settled. 

With  regards  to  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  believe  me 
Ever  faithfully  yours, 

W.  ELLEEY  CHANNING. 


266  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

—  Hawthorne  and  his  wife  had  themselves  borne 
the  chief  part  in  the  instruction  of  their  children 
hitherto.  The  former  had  grounded  his  son  carefully 
in  Latin,  and  had  introduced  him  to  Greek,  —  his 
own  acquaintance  with  these  languages  being  sound, 
if  not  critical.  French  and  Italian  had  been  added  by 
Mrs.  Hawthorne  and  Miss  Shepard ;  and  during  his 
mother's  absence  in  Lisbon,  the  boy  had  received  the 
benefit  of  training  in  drawing  from  an  eminent  artist 
in  Liverpool.  He  also  took  many  "  quarters' "  lessons 
in  the  small-sword  from  a  certain  Corporal  Blair,  of  the 
Fourth  Dragoon  Guards,  —  the  most  amiable  and  un 
exceptionable  of  British  soldiers,  gently  imperturbable 
of  manner,  courteous  of  speech,  six  feet  in  height, 
erect  as  a  mast,  and  with  the  chest  and  shoulders  of  a 
Greek  athlete.  I  also  cherish  tender  recollections 
of  an  old  Peninsula  veteran,  Major  Johnstone,  who 
trained  me  in  the  use  of  the  broadsword,  and  who, 
during  the  pauses  of  the  encounter,  used  to  regale  us 
with  anecdotes  of  Spain,  Waterloo,  and  Wellington. 
The  thorough  education  of  his  children  was,  in  short, 
Hawthorne's  one  extravagance ;  he  spared  neither 
pains  nor  money  to  that  end.  His  own  patience  and 
conscientiousness  as  a  teacher  seem  more  and  more 
wonderful  to  me,  as  time  goes  on :  nothing  escaped 
hin\;  he  shirked  nothing.  Nor  did  he  ever  speak  a 
harsh  word,  no  matter  how  trying  the  circumstan 
ces, —  and  they  must  often  have  been  very  trying! 
Were  all  instructors  like  him,  the  world  would  soon 
be  wise. 


THE   WAYSIDE  AND  THE   WAR.  267 

He  did  not  fall  in  with  his  friend  Charming's  opin 
ion  as  to  the  expediency  of  sending  his  daughters  to 
the  school ;  which,  however,  it  may  be  remarked  in 
passing,  fully  bore  out  Mr.  Channing's  recommenda 
tion.  But  Rose  was  still  very  young,  and  Una  was 
delicate  •  and,  besides,  Hawthorne  was  always  very 
chary  of  his  daughters.  But  the  school  was  not  more 
excellent  as  a  school  than  in  its  social  aspects ;  every 
week  there  was  a  school-dance,  and,  twice  or  thrice  a 
year,  a  grand  picnic,  not  to  mention  other  jollifica 
tions  ;  and  in  these  Hawthorne's  girls  took  part.  Mr. 
Emerson's  house  was  also  a  centre  of  polite  and  intel 
lectual  amenities ;  and  anotl^r  unfailing  spring  of 
hospitable  entertainment  was  always  to  be  found  at 
the  Alcotts',  our  next-door  neighbors.  Altogether,  it 
may  be  surmised  that  there  never  was  and  never  will 
be  such  a  genial  Concord  —  for  young  people  at  least 
—  as  that  which  existed  from  1859  to  1865,  or  there 
abouts;  and  several  marriages  were  among  the  Happy 
results  of  the  experience. 

Hawthorne,  meanwhile,  was  taking  counsel  with 
Mr.  Wetherbee  and  Mr.  Watts,  the  Concord  carpen 
ters,  as  to  the  best  way  of  augmenting  the  Wayside's 
commodiousness  ;  the  estimates  were  made  out,  and 
the  work  was  begun.  For  many  months  thereafter 
the  sound  of  hammering  and  sawing  was  heard  every 
day ;  boards  were  piled  up  on  the  lawn,  and  the  barn 
was  full  of  shavings  and  sawdust.  Hawthorne  had 
always  wanted  a  tower  to  write  in.  There  was  a 
tower  at  Montauto;  but  unfortunately  it  contained 


268  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

accommodations  only  for  a  couple  of  owls  and  a 
ghostly  monk.  The  present  tower  was  a  less  pictu 
resque  and  gloomy  affair,  built  of  American  deal 
boards,  and  haunted  by  nothing  but  the  smell  of  new 
wood.  A  staircase,  narrow  and  steep,  ascends  through 
the  floor,  the  opening  being  covered  by  a  sort  of 
gabled  structure,  to  one  end  of  which  a  standing-desk 
was  affixed ;  a  desk-table  was  placed  against  the  side. 
The  room  was  about  twenty  feet  square,  with  four 
gables ;  and  the  ceiling,  instead  of  being  flat,  was  a 
four-sided  vault,  following  the  conformation  of  the 
roof.  There  were  five  windows,  the  southern  and 
eastern  ones  opening  upon  a  flat  tin  roof,  upon  which 
one  might  walk  or  sit  in  suitable  weather.  The 
walls  were  papered  with  paper  of  a  pale  golden  hue, 
without  figures.  There  was  a  closet  for  books  on 
each  side  of  the  northern  window,  which  looked  out 
upon  the  hill.  A  small  fireplace,  to  which  a  stove 
was  attached,  was  placed  between  the  two  southern 
windows.  The  room  was  pleasant  in  autumn  and 
spring ;  but  in  winter  the  stove  rendered  the  air 
stifling,  and  in  summer  the  heat  of  the  sun  was 
scarcely  endurable.  Hawthorne,  however,  spent  sev 
eral  hours  of  each  day  in  his  study,  and  it  was  here 
that  the  "  Old  Home  "  was  written,  and  "  Septimius 
Felton,"  and  "  Dr.  Grirnshawe,"  and  the  Dolliver  frag 
ment.  But  in  the  afternoon  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
strolling  about  the  grounds  with  his  wife ;  and  about 
sunset  he  generally  ascended  the  hill  alone,  and  paced 
to  and  fro  along  its  summit,  wearing  a  narrow  path 


THE  WAYSIDE  AND   THE  WAR.  269 

between  the  huckleberry  and  sweet-fern  bushes  and 
beneath  the  pines,  of  which  some  traces,  I  believe, 
still  remain.  In  the  evenings  he  sat  in  the  library,  — 
the  room  in  the  western  wing,  which  had  formerly 
been  the  study ;  and  here  he  either  read  to  himself 
or  aloud  to  the  assembled  family.  Messrs.  Ticknor 
and  Fields  published  a  complete  edition  of  Walter 
Scott's  works  about  this  time,  and  sent  him  a  hand 
somely  bound 'copy;  and,  beginning  at  the  beginning, 
he  read  all  those  admirable  romances  to  his  children 
and  wife.  There  was  no  conceivable  entertainment 
which  they  would  not  have  postponed  in  favor  of  this 
presentation  of  Scott  through  the  medium  of  Haw 
thorne.  I  have  never  since  ventured  to  open  the 
Waverley  Novels. 

He  took  few  or  no  long  walks  after  his  return  to 
America  :  Walden  Pond  (about  two  miles  distant) 
was  the  limit  of  his  excursions  ;  and  he  generally  con 
fined  himself  to  his  own  grounds,  except  on  Sundays, 
when  we  all  strolled  together  about  the  neighboring 
fields  and  wood-paths.  His  physical  energy  was  on 
the  wane,  and  he  lost  flesh  rapidly.  The  first  winter, 
with  its  drifting  snows,  imprisoned  him  much  in  the 
house,  and  the  ensuing  spring  found  him  languid  and 
lacking  in  enterprise.  Meantime  the  war  had  broken 
out ;  and  he,  in  common  with  the  rest  of  his  country 
men,  perused  the  bulletins  with  great  diligence. 

Among  his  son's  earliest  recollections  are  the  lessons 
of  vigorous  patriotism  which  Hawthorne  used  to  in 
culcate  upon  him.  He  told  him  the  story  of  the  Eevo- 


270  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

lution  until  it  was  the  most  vivid  and  familiar  part 
of  the  boy's  life,  and  the  latter  went  to  England  almost 
with  the  idea  of  carrying  fire  and  sword  into  a  hostile 
country.  There  was  an  innate  love  of  battle  and  of 
warlike  emprise  in  Hawthorne's  nature ;  and  except 
when  he  took  pains  to  make  his  reason  supersede  his 
instinct,  his  expressions  of  enthusiasm  against  the 
Southern  pretensions  were  as  rousing  and  hearty  as 
any  utterances  of  the  time.  "  I  hope,"  he  used  to  say, 
"that  we  shall  give  them  a  terrible  thrashing,  and  then 
kick  them  out."  He  did  not  hope  for  the  preservation 
of  the  Union ;  because,  if  it  came  peacefully,  it  would 
sooner  or  later  involve  the  extension  of  slavery  over 
the  Northern  States,  and  if  by  war,  it  seemed  to  him 
it  would  be  only  superficial  and  temporary.  The  es 
sence  of  all  true  union  being  mutual  good-will,  it  would 
follow  that  compulsion  could  effect  nothing  worth 
having.  At  the  same  time  the  prospect  of  the  disso 
lution  of  that  mighty  nation  which  had  embodied  the 
best  hopes  of  mankind  was  a  deep  pain  to  him;  it 
seemed  likely  to  be  the  death  of  that  old  spirit  of  pa 
triotism  which  had  come  down  to  us  from  the  Revo 
lution.  A  civil  war,  in  the  Republic  of  the  Future, 
was  a  sorry  thing,  no  matter  what  the  pretext  for  it ; 
nor  was  it  easy  to  discover  what  the  real  pretext  was. 
In  wars  between  countries  foreign  to  each  other,  there 
is  seldom  either  opportunity  or  desire  to  investigate 
the  moral  attitude  of  the  opposing  party ;  but  it  was 
otherwise  in  our  civil  war.  It  was  impossible  not  to 
hear  the  arguments  of  the  other  side,  or  not  to  under- 


THE   WAYSIDE  AND  THE    WAR.  271 

stand  that  those  arguments  might  seem  unanswerable 
to  the  men  whose  geographical  and  traditional  acci 
dents  had  brought  them  under  their  influence.  The 
conflict,  in  short,  appeared  to  be  less  moral  than  irre 
pressible,  —  the  result  of  spontaneous  and  inevitable 
natural  tendencies  ;  and,  if  this  were  so,  then  so  much 
the  less  hope  was  there  that  it  would  fail  to  destroy 
whatever  was  most  imposing  and  majestic  in  our 
national  life.  As  for  abolition,  considered  as  a  mo 
tive  for  battle,  Hawthorne  rejected  all  belief  in  it.  He 
regarded  slavery  as  an  evil,  and  would  have  made  any 
personal  sacrifice  to  be  rid  of  it,  as  an  element  in  the 
national  existence;  but  to  maintain  that  we  were 
ready  to  imperil  our  life  merely  out  of  regard  for 
the  liberation  of  the  negroes  was,  in  his  opinion,  to 
utter  sentimental  nonsense.  The  best  reason  that  he 
could  give  himself  for  going  to  war  was,  that  the  ar 
rogance  of  the  slave-holders  would  otherwise  reach 
such  a  pitch  that  the  Republic  would  in  effect  be 
transformed  into  an  oligarchy,  or  possibly  something 
worse.  There  must  be  a  limit  to  Northern  concession, 
and,  "if  compelled  to  choose,"  he  said,  "I  go  for  the 
North."  But  the  choice  was  between  two  evils, — not 
between  an  undoubted  good  and  its  opposite. 

Thus  his  deeper  feeling  could  not  but  be  one  of  de 
pression  and  misgiving.  Let  us  fight  the  South  and 
conquer  her,  since  so  it  must  be,  but  let  us  not  rejoice 
too  much  at  our  victory ;  for  victory  will  cost  us  al 
most  as  much  as  defeat.  As  the  war  continued,  how 
ever,  and  luck  went  uniformly  against  us,  he  postponed 


272  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

I 

more  and  more  all  speculations  as  to  the  ultimate 
result,  and  allowed  the  grim  spirit  of  battle  to  take 
possession  of  him.  Had  we  conquered  the  South 
more  easily,  Hawthorne  would  never  have  found  it 
in  his  heart  to  feel  so  hardly  towards  her,  and  would 
have  advocated  all  possible  leniency.  As  it  was,  the 
utmost  restraint  his  conscience  could  impose  upon 
him  was  to  abstain  from  stimulating  and  inflaming, 
by  any  public  utterance,  the  public  hatred  against  our 
fellow-countrymen,  which  was  already  more  than 
enough  aroused.  In  what  little  he  has  written  hav 
ing  reference  to  the  struggle,  he  has  adopted  a  colder 
and  more  dispassionate  tone  than  he  actually  felt,  lest, 
by  yielding  to  the  animosity  of  the  moment,  he  should 
be  found  to  have  swerved  from  the  permanent  truth. 
This  course  brought  upon  him  some  local  odium  at 
the  time ;  but  he  was  of  course  then,  as  always,  ut 
terly  unmoved  by  anything  of  that  kind. 

For  more  than  a  year  after  the  outbreak  of  hostili 
ties,  however,  he  made  no  serious  attempt  to  resume 
the  habit  of  imaginative  composition.  Every  morning 
brought  fresh  news,  of  hope  or  of  disaster,  from  the 
seat  of  war,  and  there  was  no  escape  therefrom  into 
calm  regions  of  meditation.  As  he  wrote  in  the  pref 
ace  of  "  Our  Old  Home : "  "  The  Present,  the  Immediate* 
the  Actual,  has  proved  too  potent  for  me.  It  takes 
away  not  only  my  scanty  faculty,  but  even  my  desire 
for  imaginative  composition,  and  leaves  me  sadly  con 
tent  to  scatter  a  thousand  peaceful  fantasies  upon 
the  hurricane  that  is  sweeping  us  all  along  with  it, 


THE  WAYSIDE  AND  THE  WAR.  273 

possibly,  into  a  limbo  where  our  nation  and  its  polity 
may  be  as  literally  the  fragments  of  a  shattered  dream 
as  my  unwritten  romance."  He  could  not  sit  calmly 
inventing  stories,  while  the  fate  of  his  country  was  in 
suspense ;  he  must  wait  either  until  war  had  become 
our  second  nature,  or  until  the  issue  was  beyond  doubt. 
And  though  he  struggled  hard  to  overcome  this  disin 
clination,  —  indeed,  his  circumstances  could  ill  afford 
that  he  should  be  idle,  —  the  effort  was  too  much  for 
him.  The  seclusion  of  his  tower  was  not  secluded 
enough. 

Among  other  of  Hawthorne's  correspondents  at 
this  period  was  a  young  poet,  possessing  his  full 
share  of  the  suspicious  sensitiveness  of  the  poetic 
fraternity,  though  not,  perhaps,  overburdened  with 
genius.  The  two  following  specimens  of  his  epis 
tolary  style  will  be  found  entertaining:  — 

GREENFIELD,  April  4,  1861. 

NATH'L  HAWTHORNE,  Esq. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  have  just  sent  to  your  address, 
through  my  sister  now  in  Home,  a  little  volume  of 
poems  (the  same  that  you  will  find  herewith),  suppos 
ing  that  you  were  still  abroad.  Please  accept  it  as  an 
acknowledgment  of  deep  indebtedness  for  very  great 
pleasure  and  instruction  that  I  have  received  from 
your  writings ;  indeed,  so  great  that  it  has  run  into 
my  blood  and  bones,  and  perhaps  out  of  my  fingers' 
ends.  I  had  the  pleasure  not  long  since  of  sending 
to  Alfred  Tennyson  (whom  I  knew  in  England)  your 

VOL.  II.  18 


274  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

"  Mosses,"  as  he  wanted  to  see  more  New  England 
poetry  from  the  pen  of  the  author  of  "  The  Scarlet 
Letter."  But  it  seems  almost  irreverent  to  speak 
passingly  of  your  works,  or  in  terms  of  compliment ; 
and  I  beg  you  will  pardon  my  having  spoken  of  them 
at  all,  but  will  accept  this  little  volume  as  a  very 
slight  return  of  what  I  cannot  in  any  way  repay. 
With  the  hope  that  you  may  find  something  that 
will  reward  perusal,  and  that  you  will  pardon  what 
may  seem  a  liberty  in  a  stranger, 

I  remain  with  great  respect,  yours, 

F.  G.  TUCKERMAN. 

N.  B.  Will  you  permit  me  to  ask,  before  sending 
the  book,  whether  it  will  be  acceptable  ?  As  in  one 
instance  such  an  act  has  received  no  acknowledgment 
from  the  recipient.  , 

—  Hawthorne  replied  to  the  young  poet,  whose 
faith  in  human  nature  had  been  so  cruelly  be 
trayed,  in  terms  as  encouraging  as  the  circumstances 
admitted,  and  got  this  answer :  — 

GREENFIELD,  April  10,  1861. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  Your  kind  note  has  just  reached 
me,  and  I  hasten  to  avail  myself  of  your  permission 
to  send  my  little  volume.  If  I  had  only  waited  one 
day  more,  I  should  have  had  no  occasion  for  insisting 
upon  a  manifestation  of  willingness  from  yourself; 
for  the  acknowledgment,  and  a  graceful  one,  came 
at  last.  For  the  book,  which  I  offer  with  a  certain 


THE  WAYSIDE  AND  THE   WAR.  275 

tremor  to  yourself,  I  claim  little,  but  that  it  is  New 
Englandy  (I  hope),  was  not  written  to  please  anybody, 
and  is  addressed  to  those  only  who  understand  it,  • — 
and  this  latter  clause,  because  the  other  day  I  had  a 
line  from  a  clerical  critic  who,  after  reading  the  "Sou- 
nets,"  gravely  accuses  the  author  of  "idolatry,"  and 
then  goes  on  to  remark  that  "  Margites  "  would  have 
been  much  better  employed  in  some  work  of  Christian 
usefulness.  Pardon  this,  and  let  me  hope  that  you 
will  find  something  that  may  deserve  your  favorable 
opinion,  which  I  shall  be  proud  to  know  of.  My 
hope  is  to  have  the  book  published  in  England  (if  it 
seem  worthy),  as  here  I  fancy  it  would  be  but  coldly 
received,  even  with  that  proviso.  Thank  you  for  re 
ceiving  so  pleasantly  what  I  said  about  yourself,  or 
rather  what  I  did  not  say ;  only  your  own  audience 
know  the  value  of  your  benefactions,  hardly  to  be 
communicated ;  and  many  a  time  have  I  laid  down 
your  volume  with  the  conviction  "  that  only  silence 
suiteth  best."  Still  I  cannot  promise,  should  we 
ever  meet,  to  be  always  so  discreet.  Please  pardon 
a  few  corrections  and  emendations  that  I  have  made 
in  the  margin  of  my  book,  and  many  that  I  should, 
but  have  not,  made:  and  believe  me,  dear  sir, 
Both  warmly  and  gratefully  yours, 

F.  G.  TUCKERMAN. 

—  There  were  various  inducements  to  social  ac 
tivity  held  out  to  him  by  his  friends  in  Boston  at 
this  time;  especially  the  meetings  of  the  famous 


276  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

club  of  which  Emerson,  Holmes,  Lowell,  Whittier, 
and  others  were  members;  but  he  uniformly  declined 
the  invitations.  He  had  tried  the  experiment  of 
such  things  pretty  thoroughly  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Atlantic,  and  was  doubtful  of  his  ability  either 
to  give  or  to  receive  much  benefit  from  them.  Be 
sides,  he  was  not  in  the  physical  or  mental  humor  for 
general  social  intercourse ;  and  probably  wished  to 
avoid  the  political  discussions  which  would  be  apt  to 
arise,  and  in  which  he  might  be  compelled  to  oppose 
the  views  of  those  with  whom  his  friendly  relations 
were  most  agreeable.  He  reserved  the  expression 
of  his  opinions  on  those  matters  for  his  letters  to 
Bright  and  Bennoch  in  England,  and  to  Horatio 
Bridge  in  this  country.  The  following,  written  to 
the  latter  not  long  after  the  outbreak  of  hostili 
ties,  has,  I  think,  already  found  its  way  into  print, 
but  should  be  preserved  here  as  a  part  of  the  his 
tory  of  his  thoughts  at  this  juncture :  — 

CONCORD,  May  26,  1861. 

MY  DEAR  BRIDGE,  — ...  The  war,  strange  to  say, 
has  had  a  beneficial  effect  upon  my  spirits,  which 
were  flagging  wofully  before  it  broke  out.  But  it 
was  delightful  to  share  in  the  heroic  sentiment  of  the 
time,  and  to  feel  that  I  had  a  country,  —  a  conscious 
ness  which  seemed  to  make  me  young  again.  One 
thing  as  regards  this  matter  I  regret,  and  one  thing 
I  am  glad  of.  The  regrettable  thing  is  that  I  am  too 
old  to  shoulder  a  musket  myself,  and  the  joyful  thing 


THE  WAYSIDE  AND   THE   WAR.  277 

is  that  Julian  is  too  young.  He  drills  constantly 
with  a  company  of  lads,  and  means  to  enlist  as  soon 
as  he  reaches  the  minimum  age.  But  I  trust  we 
shall  either  be  victorious  or  vanquished  before  that 
time.  Meantime,  though  I  approve  the  war  as  much 
as  any  man,  I  don't  quite  understand  what  we  are 
fighting  for,  or  what  definite  result  can  be  expected. 
If  we  pummel  the  South  ever  so  hard,  they  will  love 
us  none  the  better  for  it;  and  even  if  we  subjugate 
them,  our  next  step  should  be  to  cut  them  adrift.  If 
we  are  fighting  for  the  annihilation  of  slavery,  to  be 
sure  it  may  be  a  wise  object,  and  offer  a  tangible 
result,  and  the  only  one  which  is  consistent  with  a 
future  union  between  North  and  South.  A  con 
tinuance  of  the  war  would  soon  make  this  plain 
to  us,  and  we  should  see  the  expediency  of  pre 
paring  our  black  brethren  for  future  citizenship  by 
allowing  them  to  fight  for  their  own  liberties,  and 
educating  them  through  heroic  influences.  Whatever 
happens  next,  I  must  say  that  I  rejoice  that  the  old 
Union  is  smashed.  We  never  wei'e  one  people,  and 
never  really  had  a  country  since  the  Constitution  was 
formed.  .  .  . 

NATH.  HAWTHORNE. 

—  Two  letters  from  Henry  Bright,  though  written 
a  couple  of  years  apart,  may  be  placed  together  here, 
as  there  is  nothing  in  them  of  especially  chronological 
importance.  The  second  one  refers  to  the  renowned 
passage  about  Englishwomen  in  "  Our  Old  Home," 


278  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS  WIFE. 

which  retains  to  this  day  a  ludicrous  power  to  make 
the  great  nation  gnash  its  teeth  with  resentment. 

...  I  went  to  the  opening  of  the  Exhibition.  It 
was  a  dull  sight,  and  rather  a  sad  one :  the  ghost  of 
the  poor  Prince  would  not  be  laid !  —  and  then,  too, 
one  thought  of  the  Exhibition  of  1851,  with  its  charm 
ing  gayety,  its  freshness,  its  beauty,  and  the  dream  of 
lasting  peace  and  good- will  among  men,  which  lingered 
about  it,  and  half  hallowed  it.  Now,  that  dream  could 
not  come  again ;  and  the  Exhibition  seems  but  some 
big  bazaar,  —  and  the  friendship  of  nations  is  only  the 
buying  and  selling  of  luxuries, —  and  everywhere  there 
seems  to  be  a  spirit  of  self-seeking  and  greed  and  hol 
low  pretence  of  lofty  purpose.  Beautiful  things  of 
course  there  are  in  all  the  courts,  but  they  are  beau 
tiful  in  detail,  not  as  parts  of  one  grand  whole.  Most 
beautiful  are  the  pictures,  though  even  here  I  for  one 
remember  the  art-galleries  of  Manchester  still  more 
pleasantly,  and  would  readily  give  up  French  galleries 
and  Belgian  galleries  for  that  head  of  Era  Angelico, 
the  Murillo,  the  Eubens  Eainbow,  and  others, 
which  you  will  at  once  call  up  again.  —  Then,  some  of 
the  sculpture  here  is  good.  Eirst  and  best  is  Story's 
"  Cleopatra,"  which  you  it  was,  who  told  us  of.  It  is  a, 
noble  statue,  and  every  one  admires  it, —  every  one 
thinks  it  the  finest  statue  there.  How  good  your 
description  is  (I  read  it  over  again  yesterday)  ;  and 
how  wise  you  were  to  recognize  the  power  of  Story's 
work.  It  is  curious  that  both  in  1851  and  now 


THE  WAYSIDE  AND  THE  WAR.  279 

America  should  cany  off  the  palm  of  Phidias.  As 
for  Gibson's  "Venus,"  I  hate  and  despise  her.  So 
meretricious  a  lady  should  not  venture  into  decent 
company.  How  cruel  too  she  looks,  —  with  that  blue, 
stony  eye,  with  no  particle  of  light  to  give  it  life. 
She  is  a  goddess  of  Corinth  in  the  worst  days,  —  or 
the  Venus  of  the  Tannhaliser  ! 

I  saw  a  good  deal  of  Milnes.  He  is  more  Northern 
in  his  sympathies  than  any  one  I  met  except  Hughes 
(I  suspect  Tom  Brown  wishes  to  avenge  the  death  of 
his  kinsman  "  Old  John  "),  and  the  editor  of  "  Macmil- 
lan's  Magazine."  I  spent  one  pleasant  evening  at  the 
"Cosmopolitan;"  —  Milnes  was  there,  Sir  John  Simeon, 
Captain  Bruce,  and  one  or  two  others  whom  you  will 
remember.  I  had  also  a  pleasant  talk  with  Millais, 
Woolner  the  sculptor,  and  Hughes.  Another  night 
I  was  at  a  soire'e  at  Milnes's,  —  such  a  den  of  lions ! 
Du  Chaillu,  the  gorilla ;  Jules  Gerard,  the  lion- 
slayer  ;  Eupell  of  the  "  Times ; "  Theodore  Martin ;  an 
exiled  Prince  ;  certain  grandees,  and  certain  unknown 
characters.  Milnes  is  really  the  kindest,  most  lovable 
man,  and  is  a  perfectly  fearless  Daniel  in  the  midst 
of  it  all.  Synge  you  certainly  remember.  I  went  to 
Thackeray's  new  house,  where  he  was  staying,  to  bid 
him  good-by.  .  .  . 

MY  DFAR  MR.  HAWTHORNE, — Thank  you  most 
warmly,  most  heartily,  for  all  your  kindness,  —  for 
sending  me  your  book,  —  and  for  the  too  generous 
words  of  friendship  in  which  you  speak  of  me.  It  is 


280  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

one  of  the  best  things  of  my  life  to  have  made  a  friend 
of  you.  With  this  I  send  a  review  of  mine,  in  the 
"  Examiner,"  of  "  Our  Old  Home."  Don't  think  me 
very  ungrateful  for  my  abuse  of  your  abuse  of  English 
ladies.  You  see  I  positively  could  riot  help  it.  An 
inevitable  lance  had  to  be  broken,  both  for  the  fun  of 
it  and  the  truth  of  it.  It  really  was  too  bad,  some  of 
the  things  you  say.  You  talk  like  a  cannibal.  Mrs. 
Hey  wood  says  to  my  mother,  "I  really  believe  you 
and  I  were  the  only  ladies  he  knew  in  Liverpool,  and. 
we  are  not  like  beefsteaks."  So  all  the  ladies  are  fu 
rious.  Within  the  last  day  or  two  I  also  have  become 
more  intolerant,  for  I  am  the  happy  father  of  a  little 
girl  who  promises  to  be  a  typical  Englishwoman; 
and  were  I  again  to  write  a  review,  my  lance,  for 
her  sake,  must  needs  be  sharper,  and  my  thrust  more 
vigorous ! 

I  will  not  write  politics  to  you,  for  I  have  nothing 
new  to  say.  "  Fraternization  or  death  "  is  no  doubt  a 
good  and  eminently  logical  cry,  and  no  doubt  the  re 
sult  will  prove  its  admirable  expediency.  When  all 
the  men  are  killed,  the  women  and  children  will  be 
left,  and  "  fraternization,"  or  more  intimate  relation 
ship,  will  of  course  be  possible.  I  'm  glad  you  're 
not  to  fight  us  about  these  "  rams ;  "  but  perhaps  Jeff 
Davis  will :  it  is  so  very  difficult  to  please  every  one. 
I  went  over  one  of  the  "  rams  "  the  other  day.  It  looks 
formidable  enough  :  two  revolving  turrets,  immense 
iron  plates,  huge  battering-prow.  One  is  sorry  for  the 
intending  punchatees,  —  so  nearly  ready  as  she  was, 


THE  WAYSIDE  AND   THE  WAR.  281 

- —  and  now  the  "  broad  arrow  "  is  upon  her,  and  she 
must  not  stir.  Mr.  Ward  Beecher  has  been  lecturing 
here.  I  regret  to  say  that  some  one  was  unmannerly 
enough  to  placard  the  walls  with  "  sensation  "  placards 
in  black  and  red,  quoting  from  a  speech  of  his  (Ward 
Beecher's)  on  the  Trent  affair,  in  which  he  was  pleased 
to  remark  that  "  the  best  blood  of  England  must  flow  " 
in  consequence.  I  'm  afraid  that  Mr.  Beecher  found 
a  portion  of  his  audience  inattentive,  and  given  to 
groans  and  stamps ;  however,  there  was  no  regular 
row  ;  and  Mr.  Beecher's  audacity  in  lecturing  at  all 
had  a  touch  of  sublimity  in  it.  Mr.  Charming  has 
also  been  lecturing  in  Leeds  and  elsewhere.  I  am 
very  sorry  to  have  seen  so  little  of  him,  but  I  am 
afraid  he  has  not  a  strictly  philosophic  mind,  and 
would  resent  any  expression  of  opinion  adverse  to 
his  own.  .  .  . 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

H.  A.  BRIGHT. 

—  During  the  summer  the  "beneficial  effect"  of 
the  war  upon  Hawthorne's  spirits  sensibly  diminished, 
and  the  severe  heat  contributed  to  render  him  uncom 
fortable.  Still,  he  was  not  actually  ill,  and  was  very 
far  from  admitting  any  need  of  change  of  scene. 
That  was  a  medicine  which  he  had  tried  (he  thought) 
more  than  enough.  His  wife,  however,  was  very  anx 
ious  to  get  him  off  to  the  seaside ;  but  it  was  vain 
to  urge  him  to  take  any  such  step  on  his  own  account. 
As  good  luck  would  have  it,  his  son  Julian  was 


282  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

enabled  to  become  the  deus  ex  machina  of  the  pre 
dicament.  In  swimming  across  Concord  River  under 
water  (during  a  competitive  contest  with  his  school 
fellows)  he  had  contrived  to  produce  a  congestion  of 
blood  to  the  brain,  which  laid  him  up  for  several  days 
with  a  smart  illness,  and  made  it  possible  for  his 
mother  to  insist  upon  his  being  immediately  taken  to 
the  seaside  by  his  father,  to  obtain  the  necessary  rest 
and  refreshment.  This  was  in  July,  1861,  and  is 
alluded  to  by  Hawthorne  in  a  letter  to  Lowell.  "  I 
am  to  start,  in  two  or  three  days,"  he  says,  "  on  an  ex 
cursion  with  Julian,  who  has  something  the  matter 
with  him,  and  seems  to  need  sea-air  and  change.  If 
I  alone  were  concerned,  I  would  most  gladly  put  off 
my  trip  till  after  your  dinner ;  but,  as  the  case  stands, 
I  am  compelled  to  decline.  Speaking  of  dinner,  last 
evening's  news  [of  the  first  battle  of  Bull  Run]  will 
dull  the  edge  of  many  a  Northern  appetite ;  but  if  it 
puts  all  of  us  into  the  same  grim  and  bloody  humor 
that  it  does  me,  the  South  had  better  have  suffered 
ten  defeats  than  won  this  victory." 

"We  started,  accordingly,  on  the  morning  of  Satur 
day,  July  25th,  and  proceeded  to  an  out-of-the-way 
place  called  Pride's  Crossing,  some  miles  out  of 
Salem.  The  following  letter  from  Mrs.  Hawthorne 
gives  a  good  picture  of  the  domestic  situation  at 
the  time :  — 

SATURDAY  EVENING,  July  25,  1861. 

MY  DEAREST  HUSBAND,  —  My  babies  are  a-bed,  and 
I  must  write  down  my  day  to  you,  or  it  will  not  be 


THE  WAYSIDE  AND  THE  WAR.  283 

rounded  in.  I  do  not  know  how  to  impress  you  with 
adequate  force  concerning  the  absolutely  inspiring 
effect  of  thy  absence  !  I  have  been  weighed  to  the 
earth  by  my  sense  of  your  depressed  energies  and 
spirits,  in  a  way  from  which  I  tried  in  vain  to  rally. 
I  could  not  sit  down  in  the  house  and  think  about  it, 
and  so  I  kept  out  as  much  as  possible,  at  work.  For 
in  the  house  a  millstone  weighed  on  my  heart  and 
head,  and  I  had  to  struggle  to  keep  off  the  bed,  where 
I  only  fell  into  a  half  —  a  stupid  and  an  unrefreshing 

—  sleep.     Of  all  the  trials,  this  is  the  heaviest  to  me, 

—  to  see  you  so  apathetic,  so  indifferent,  so  hopeless, 
so  unstrung.     Eome  has  no  sin  to  answer  for  so  un 
pardonable  as  this  of  wrenching  off  your  wings  and 
hanging  lead  upon  your  arrowy  feet.     Eome  —  and 
all  Eome  caused  to  you.     What  a  mixed  cup  is  this 
to  drink  !     My  heart's  desire  has  been,  ever  since  the 
warm  days,  to  get  you   to  the   sea  under  pleasant 
auspices,  in  a  free  and  unencumbered  way,  —  the  sea 
only,  and  no  people.     I  saw  no  way,  until  this  plan 
of  taking  Julian   occurred  to  you;  and   devoutly  I 
blessed  God  for  it,  and  do  now  bless  Him.     I  felt  so 
sure  that  Julian  would  be  only  a  comfort  and  a  pleas 
ure  to  you,  and  am  easier  to  have  him  with  you.     It 
is  good  for  him  to  be  out  of  the  fret  of  common  rou 
tine,  and  it  is  good  for  you  to  have  a  change  from 
river-damps  and  sand-heats  to  ocean  fogs  and  cool 
sands,  —  and  also  from  the  usual  days.     You  espe 
cially  need  change  of  scene  and  air.     I  can  flourish 
like  purslain  anywhere  if  my  heart  is  at  peace.     I 


284  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

cannot  flourish  anywhere  if  it  be  not  at  peace,  —  not 
in  any  imaginable  Paradise.  Well,  beloved,  you  were 
no  sooner  fairly  gone,  —  it  was  no  sooner  half-past 
eight  o'clock,  —  than  a  great  thick  cloud  rose  off  my 
heart  and  head.  I  had  a  thousand  things  which  I 
meant  to  do  in  the  house ;  but  Eose  wanted  me  to 
weed  the  paths  with  her  while  she  weeded  the  beds. 
So  I  took  advantage  of  the  shaded  sun  and  went  out. 
First  she  took  a  small  basket  and  I  took  a  big  one, 
and  we  went  down  into  the  garden  to  get  potatoes 
and  squashes.  I  gathered  four  squashes,  and  she  got 
a  basket  nearly  full  of  potatoes.  Then  we  weeded. 
At  ten,  Mary  Ellen  Bull  came  to  draw,  and  I  set  her 
to  work,  and  continued  to  weed  the  paths,  feeling 
better  than  I  had  for  months, —  feeling  an  endless 
energy  and  a  new  joy  quite  intoxicating.  I  went  on 
weeding  till  after  twelve  !  —  Eose  and  Joanna  wheel 
ing  off  wheelbarrows  full  of  my  spoils,  and  leaving 
such  delightful  order  as  would  rejoice  your  eyes 
to  see.  Una  went  down  for  the  mail,  and  thereby 
caught  a  history  lesson  from  Aunt  Lizzie  Peabody. 
She  brought  a  letter  from  London  for  you,  from  Miss 
Adelaide  Procter,  probably  the  lovely  daughter  of 
Barry  Cornwall.  I  shall  send  you  the  letter  to  amuse 
you,  for  I  hope  it  will  not  bore  you  to  receive  such  a 
request.  If  it  do,  I  shall  wish  the  Society  Victoria 
Eegia  abolished.  "  Hawthorne,  Nathaniel "  need  only 
say  that  he  cannot  write  now,  but  will  in  some  future 
time,  —  unless  he  choose  to  send  an  extract  from  his 
journals.  After  dinner,  instead  of  being  obliged  to 


THE  WAYSIDE  AND  THE  WAR.  285 

lie  down,  as  usual,  I  felt  a  new  lease  of  life  and 
awakeness.  Una  became  a  "  blue  being  "  and  sat  to 
sew,  and  Eose  and  I  returned  to  our  muttons,  —  that 
is,  weeds.  Presently  the  Blue  Being  came  out  to  nail 
up  vines,  and  Eose  cut  her  thumb  with  the  sickle, 
and  had  to  leave  off  work.  .  .  . 

—  Pride's  Crossing,  as  I  remember  it  in  those  days, 
consisted  of  a  farm-house  standing  near  the  railway, 
and  surrounded  by  woods.  We  ate  and  slept  in  the 
farm-house,  and  tramped  through  the  woods,  which, 
traversed  in  an  easterly  direction,  led  to  the  sea-shore, 
where  there  was  an  agreeable  alternation  of  sands  arid 
rocks.  We  used  to  spend  most  of  our  days  on  the 
beach,  and  in  the  evenings  Hawthorne  would  gen 
erally  go  in  swimming.  Fishing,  likewise,  was  our 
daily  diversion,  and  we  caught  every  day  sea-perch 
and  bass  enough  to  serve  for  our  supper.  The  people 
at  the  farm-house  were  quiet  and  uninquisitive ;  but 
newspapers  found  their  way  there,  as  they  did  to 
every  other  place  in  the  States  at  that  epoch,  and  we 
were  obliged  to  remember  that  the  civil  war  was  still 
going  on.  Hawthorne,  however,  merely  glanced  at 
the  "  Latest  News  "  column,  and  let  the  rest  go  ;  and 
in  the  course  of  a  week  or  so  he  had  recovered  some 
what  of  his  elasticity.  Our  conversation  had  little 
relation  to  war-matters ;  but  he  had  been  familiar 
with  this  part  of  the  coast  in  his  boyhood  and  youth, 
and  used  to  tell  tales  of  those  early  days,  and  recall 
various  old  local  traditions  of  the  neighborhood.  He 


286  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

had  begun  to  show  himself  to  me  as  a  friend,  as  well 
as  a  father,  and  sometimes  spoke  to  me  about  my 
possible  future,  —  my  approaching  college  days,  and 
what  was  to  come  after.  "  I  suppose,  when  you  are 
grown  up,  you  will  do  so  and  so,"  he  would  say, — 
usually  suggesting  something  so  preposterous  or  dis 
tasteful  as  to  stimulate  me  to  define  an  alternative, 
which  he  would  then  criticise.  But  he  always  care 
fully  avoided  forcing  upon  his  companion  any  wishes 
or  expectations  of  his  own  ;  he  would  suggest,  and 
then  observe  and  perhaps  modify  the  effect  of  his 
suggestions. 

Before  the  end  of  the  week,  Mrs.  Hawthorne  wrote 
again :  — 

JULY  30,  1861. 

.  .  .  While  Rose  drew,  I  read  aloud  to  her  the 
"  Miraculous  Pitcher."  It  is  the  divinest  exposition 
of  hospitality  that  ever  was  written  or  thought.  It 
is  altogether  perfect  in  every  way.  You  only  can 
use  language,  or  have  adequate  ideas  to  clothe  with 
it.  This  is  rny  multum-in-parvo  criticism  upon  your 
works.  After  dinner  we  made  a  settlement  with 
chairs  and  a  table  and  crickets  out  by  the  acacia 
path,  in  a  delicious  shade  on  thick  grass,  hard  by  the 
tomato-bed.  It  was  delightful  out  there,  and  the  air 
nectar ;  and  we  all  thought  how  you  and  Julian  were 
enjoying  the  fine  weather.  We  had  early  tea,  and 
soon  after  — it  being  Wednesday,  our  reception-day  — 
a  stream  of  ladies  appeared  from  the  Alcott  path,  — 
the  larch  path,  —  which  gradually  was  resolved  into 


THE   WAYSIDE  AND   THE  WAR.  287 

Mrs.  Emerson,  Mrs.  Brown,  and  Elizabeth.  They 
made  a  long  call,  and  then  Mrs.  Emerson  and  Mrs. 
Brown  left,  and  E.  P.  P.  remained.  At  seven  she 
said,  "Why,  do  you  have  no  tea?"  and  I  exclaimed 
we  had  finished  tea  an  hour  and  a  half  ago !  But  we 
ran  and  found  some  bread  and  butter  and  cheese, 
and  she  ate  a  sorry  supper.  All  I  can  boast  of  in 
the  way  of  Baucis  is,  that  she  was  saved  from  water- 
porridge  and  unleavened  bread.  When  she  had  gone, 
Eose  and  I  went  on  a  sentimental  journey  up  the 
acacia  path  to  the  hill-top,  and  to  your  winding  foot- 
track  ;  and  we  sat  down  under  your  tree,  and  I  re 
joiced  that  you  were  not  there  !  I  had  no  need  of 
sleep  to-day  again,  so  restored  am  I  by  your  absence. 
We  saw  the  sunset  glory,  and  then  descended.  Upon 
dressing  at  the  glass  this  morning,  I  was  really  at 
tracted  by  the  immense  change  in  my  own  face,  — 
such  a  relief,  such  a  serenity,  such  a  health !  and 
Una  remarked  the  entire  difference  of  my  look :  it 
seemed  miraculous.  So  you  perceive  that  the  only 
way  to  restore  me  is  for  you  to  remain  at  the  sea, 
having  thrown  care  into  Walden  Pond  as  you  steamed 
away.  You  will  surely  stay  as  long  as  possible  for 
my  sake.  Do  not  grudge  money  for  it.  It  is  better 
to  spend  money  so  than  to  give  it  to  doctors,  —  and 
I  shall  have  to  go  to  Dr.  Esterbrook  if  you  come 
back  pretty  soon.  Yours  and  Julian's  shirts  and 
collars  can  be  washed  by  the  divine  Mrs.  Pierce  when 
they  fail ;  but  stay  —  stay  —  stay,  at  Pride's  Cross 
ing,  or  somewhere  where  there  is  sea,  with  a  happy 


288  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

and  easy  mind ;  and  we  shall  all  be  better  in  health 
for  it.  It  is  far  better  than  if  /  went  to  the  sea,  or 
to  anywhere.  It  restores  my  life  to  have  you  breath 
ing  in  the  salt.  I  hope  you  will  have  sea-bathing 
as  well  as  Julian,  and  do  always  have  towels  to  rub 
dry  the  skin.  So  now  good-night,  and  God  bless 
thee  ever. 

—  Hawthorne  had  written,  a  day  or  two  before,  to 
his  daughter  Una  (whom  he  called  "  Onion/'  for  love). 
The  "  Aunt  Lizzie "  mentioned  was  Miss  Elizabeth 
Hawthorne,  whose  abode  was  but  two  or  three  miles 
from  our  farm-house. 

WEST  BEACH  (or  somewhere  else),  July  28,  1861. 

DEAR  ONION, — We  arrived  duly,. yesterday  after 
noon,  and  find  it  a  tolerably  comfortable  place.  In 
deed,  Julian  seems  to  like  it  exceedingly,  and  I  am 
not  much  more  discontented  than  with  many  other 
spots  in  this  weary  world.  It  is  a  little,  black,  old 
house,  on  the  edge  of  the  railroad,  and  close  by  a 
wood  which  intervenes  between  it  and  the  sea,  and 
in  which  Julian  finds  high-bush  blueberries,  and 
blackberries  half  ripened.  The  host  and  hostess  are 
two  uncouth  specimens  of  New  .England  yeomanry, 
very  unobtrusive,  however,  and  as  attentive  as  they 
know  how  to  be.  Julian  was  delighted  with  the 
supper-table,  inasmuch  as  it  afforded  him  a  pie  made 
of  dried  apples,  and  some  tarts  of  barberry  stewed  in 
molasses;  and  he  seemed  to  think  it  princely  fare. 
In  the  way  of  literature,,  we  have  half  a  dozen 


THE   WAY  SIDE  AND   THE   WAR.  289 

religious  books,  such  as  "  The  Life  of  Christ,  with  a 
Portrait"  (from  an  original  photograph,  I  suppose), 
"  Solomon's  Proverbs,  illustrated,"  "  Pearls  of  Grace 
from  the  Depths  of  Divine  Love,"  and  several  others 
of  the  same  stamp.  We  have  abundant  accommoda 
tions  of  every  kind,  —  one  bowl  and  pitcher  between 
us,  there  being  no  other  in  the  house,  and  everything 
on  a  similar  scale.  Nevertheless,  if  the  weather  is 
favorable,  we  shall  have  little  to  do  with  the  inside  of 
this  house,  but  shall  haunt  the  woods  and  the  sea 
shore.  I  shall  thank  Heaven  when  we  get  back. 
Aunt  Lizzie  came  to  see  us  yesterday  after  tea. 

I  don't  know  what  is  the  direction  of  this  place, 
but  am  of  opinion  that  a  letter  sent  to  "West  Beach, 
Beverly,"  would  reach  the  nearest  post-office.  Julian 
is  redundantly  well. 

Love  to  all.  N.  H. 

P.  S.  Monday  Morning.  We  went  yesterday  after 
noon  to  see  Aunt  Lizzie,  and  had  a  very  pleasant 
ramble  through  the  woods,  gathering  berries  all  the 
way.  Julian  enjoys  himself  very  much,  and  I  do 
not  think  we  shall  come  home  so  soon  as  Saturday,  as 
I  at  first  intended.  I  forgot  to  mention  that  I  was 
recognized  in  some  inscrutable  way  by  a  gentleman 
in  the  train,  who  brought  us  to  the  door  in  his 
carriage,  and  put  his  house,  his  beach,  and  everything 
else,  at  our  disposal.  0  ye  Heavens  !  How  absurd 
that  a  man  should  spend  the  best  of  his  years  in 
getting  a  little  mite  of  reputation,  and  then  imrnedi- 
iately  find  the  annoyance  of  it  more  than  the  profit. 

19 


290  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

I  hope  you  keep  mamma  in  good  order,  and  do  not 
let  her  do  anything  imprudent.  Aunt  Lizzie  wants 
Eosebud  to  come  and  stay  with  her. 

N.  H. 
West  Beach,  Beverly  Farms,  I  think. 

—  We  remained  another  week,  and  then  Haw 
thorne  wrote,  "  I  suppose  we  shall  corne  home  Satur 
day.  I  am  very  well,  which  is  a  wonder,  considering 
how  I  am  daily  fried  in  the  sun.  I  do  really  sizzle, 
sometimes  ;  but  I  guzzle  more  than  I  sizzle  ! " 

Some  correspondence,  chiefly  about  war-matters, 
took  place  between  Hawthorne  and  his  friends  Bright 
and  Bennoch,  during  the  ensuing  months.  Haw 
thorne's  letter  has  already  appeared  in  a  newspaper ; 
the  letters  of  the  two  Englishmen  are  worth  pre 
serving,  as  voicing  the  attitude  of  a  very  large  and 
intelligent  part  of  the  British  nation  during  the 
time  of  our  greatest  need. 


MY  DEAR  BENNOCH,  — .  .  .  We  also  have  gone  to 
war,  and  we  seem  to  have  little,  or  at  least  a  very 
misty  idea  of  what  we  are  fighting  for.  It  depends 
upon  the  speaker ;  and  that,  again,  depends  upon  the 
section  of  the  country  in  which  his  sympathies  are 
enlisted.  The  Southern  man  will  say,  "  We  fight  for 
State  rights,  liberty,  and  independence."  The  Middle 
Western  man  will  avow  that  he  fights  for  the  Union  ; 
while  our  Northern  and  Eastern  man  will  swear  that 
from  the  beginning  his  only  idea  was  liberty  to  the 


THE  WAYSIDE  AND  THE  WAR.  291 

blacks  and  the  annihilation  of  slavery.  All  are 
thoroughly  in  earnest,  and  all  pray  for  the  blessing  of 
Heaven  to  rest  upon  the  enterprise.  The  appeals  are 
so  numerous,  fervent,  and  yet  so  contradictory,  that 
the  Great  Arbiter  to  whom  they  so  piously  and 
solemnly  appeal  must  be  sorely  puzzled  how  to  de 
cide.  One  thing  is  indisputable,  —  the  spirit  of  our 
young  men  is  thoroughly  aroused.  Their  enthusiasm 
is  boundless,  and  the  smiles  of  our  fragile  and  deli 
cate  women*  cheer  them  on.  When  I  hear  their 
drums  beating,  and  see  their  colors  flying,  and  witness 
their  '  steady  marching,  I  declare,  were  it  not  for 
certain  silvery  monitors  hanging  by  my  temples,  sug 
gesting  prudence,  I  feel  as  if  I  could  catch  the  infec 
tion,  shoulder  a  musket,  and  be  off  to  the  war  myself ! 
Meditating  on  these  matters,  I  begin  to  think  our 
custom  as  to  war  is  a  mistake.  Why  draw  from  our 
young  men  in  the  bloom  and  heyday  of  their  youth 
the  soldiers  who  are  to  fight  our  battles  ?  Had  I  my 
way,  no  man  should  go  to  war  under  fifty  years  of 
age,  such  men  having  already  had  their  natural  share 
of  worldly  pleasures  and  life's  enjoyments.  And  I 
don't  see  how  they  could  make  a  more  creditable  or 
more  honorable  exit  from  the  world's  stage  than  by 
becoming  food  for  powder,  and  gloriously  dying  in 
defence  of  their  home  and  country.  Then  I  would 
add  a  premium  in  favor  of  recruits  "of  threescore 
years  and  upward,  as,  virtually  with  one  foot  in  the 
grave,  they  would  not  be  likely  to  run  away.  I 
apprehend  that  no  people  ever  built  tip  the  skeleton 


292  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

of  a  warlike  history  so  rapidly  as  we  are  doing. 
What  a  fine  theme  for  the  poet!  If  you  were  not 
a  born  Britisher,  from  whose  country  we  expect  no 
help  and  little  sympathy,  I  would  ask  you  for  a 
martial  strain,  — a  song  to  be  sung  by  our  camp-fires, 
to  soothe  the  feelings  and  rouse  the  energies  of  our 
troops,  inspiring  them  to  meet  like  men  the  great 
conflict  that  awaits  them,  resolved  to  conquer  or  die 
—  if  dying,  still  to  conquer.  Ten  thousand  poetasters 
have  tried,  and  tried  in  vain,  to  give  us  a  rousing 
"  Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled."  If  we  fight  no 
better  than  we  sing,  may  the  Lord  have  mercy  upon 
us  and  upon  the  nation  ! 

NATH.  HAWTHORNE. 

LONDON,  Aug.  1,  1861. 

MY  DEAR  HAWTHORNE,  — ...  It  would  be  easy  to 
write  a  thrilling  trumpet-blast  which  should  rouse 
almost  the  dead  to  action.  But  I  cannot  feel  savage 
enough  or  indignant  enough  with  these  Southerners. 
Whenever  I  attempt  it,  some  blatant  folly  (such  as 
was  published  at  Paris  by  your  precious  foreign 
representatives,  among  whom  was  Burlingame,  who 
ought  to  have  known  better)  on  the  part  of  the 
North  rushes  into  our  system,  and  condenses  what 
was  becoming  patriotic  steam  into  a  few  drops  of 
tainted  water ;  and  so  I,  and  millions  more,  remain, 
quiescent,  almost  impassive,  being  unable  to  find  out 
from  any  speech  or  statement  what  the  principle 
involved  reallv  is. 


THE  WAYSIDE  AND   THE  WAR.  293 

The  President  argues  in  favor  of  secession,  and 
permits  it,  if  he  does  not  treacherously  encourage  it ; 
the  succeeding  President  ignores  it,  pooh-poohs  it, 
and  then  fights  it.  If  the  second  is  right,  the  first 
should  be  arraigned  for  treason  against  the  State,  and 
be  treated  according  to  law.  The  obnoxious  mem 
bers  of  your  body  politic  wish  to  slough  off  and  be 
independent.  The  stigma  of  the  North,  and  the 
scandal  of  the  world,  wishes  to  be  amputated,  and 
leave  the  Northern  system  a  purer  and  more  healthy 
constitution.  The  North  rebels  against  the  rebels, 
and  so  they  get  to  fisticuffs.  Europe,  and  especially 
England,  is  warned  against  intermeddling;  she  has 
no  wish  to  intermeddle,  and  warns  her  subjects 
against  having  anything  to  do  with  the  quarrel. 
Then  she  is  accused  of  lukewarmness,  and  of  being 
untrue  to  her  principles  of  abolition  of  slavery,  which 
is  the  real  aim  of  the  North !  We  don't  believe  a  bit 
of  it.  We  don't  think  that  the  Northerners  desire 
to  liberate  the  slave  by  the  violence  now  in  action. 
We  feel  that  this  was  merely  a  ruse  to  excite  fury 
and  rouse  the  passions,  while  it  wins  the  support 
of  genuine  Northern  abolitionists.  Altogether,  the 
absence  of  a  distinct,  well-defined  object  to  be  settled 
by  the  fight  bewilders  not  only  our  public  men,  but 
also  our  public  writers.  To  me,  it  has  been  partly 
plain  that,  first,  the  Union  must,  by  peace  or  war,  by 
cajoling,  coercion,  or  imagination,  be  held  unbroken- 
Next,  how  keep  the  South,  or  how  let  them  go  ?  If 
held,  must  slavery  be  extended,  or  the  slave  emanci- 


294  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

pated  ?  If  the  former,  what  becomes  of  the  principle 
so  loudly  proclaimed  ?  and  if  the  latter,  is  it  to  be 
done  piratically,  or  honorably,  by  giving  compensation 
to  the  owners  ?  Altogether,  your  statesmen,  at  first, 
did  not  believe  in  war,  but  by  considerable  ingenuity 
excited  the  South  to  strike  (see  Lincoln's  message), 
and  then  "cry  havoc  and  let  slip,"  etc.  Having 
begun,  I  have  failed  to  discover  the  precise  grounds 
on  which  or  principles  for  which  they  are  righting. 
The  money  voted  for  the  war,  which  is  not  one 
fourth  of  the  loss  sustained  by  the  people,  would 
have  bought  every  slave  and  set  him  free.  We  are 
persuaded  that  the  end  is  near,  and  we  believe  that 
the  South  will  attain  all  they  wanted,  —  extension 
and  security  to  slavery;  while  the  North  will  give  up 
all  for  which  it  has  vaunted  it  was  fighting.  If  so,  an 
everlasting  stigma  will  remain  on  the  names  of  your 
present  rulers,  while  the  hated  South  will  rise  with 
the  consciousness  of  triumph.  My  dear  Hawthorne, 
I  may  be  mistaken  in  all  this.  I  almost  hope  I 
am ;  it  has  humbled  us  all  greatly ;  to  think  that 
our  high-spirited  and  highly  moral  friends  and  dear 
cousins  should  have  exhibited  such  a  desire  to  imitate 
the  blood-spilling  propensities  of  despots,  has  touched 
our  conceit  not  a  little. 

What  a  terrible  catastrophe  that  is  that  has  be 
fallen  poor  Longfellow !  I  wish  he  would  come  to  us 
for  a  few  weeks.  Try  and  persuade  him  to  do  so. 
Love  to  all. 

I  am  ever  yours,          F.  BENNOCH. 


THE  WAYSIDE  AND   THE  WAR.  295 

—  The  allusion  to  Longfellow  recalls  the  tragical 
death  of  his  wife,  which  occurred  this  year. 

The  next  two  extracts  are  from  Henry  Bright's 
letters ;  the  omitted  portions  being  charming  descrip 
tions  of  his  new-married  life,  —  too  intimate  and 
lovable  to  be  published. 

.  .  .  Your  thoughts  no  doubt  are  all  taken  tip  with 
your  own  country  ;  and  so  indeed  are  many  of  our 
thoughts  too.  What  is  to  come  of  it  all  ?  Here  in 
England,  among  those  who  have  known  and  loved 
America  best  (and  I  ham  loved  America,  though 
you  and  I  used  to  break  a  lance  or  two  in  not  un 
friendly  tilt ! ),  there  is  but  one  feeling,  —  of  great  sad 
ness  and  great  regret.  We  do  not  know  whose  is  the 
fault, —  whose  the  crime,  —  but  we  do  feel  that  we 
cannot  endure  this  dreadful  civil  war,  and  that  any 
separation  would  be  better.  Still,  we  can  understand 
how  you,  who  are  on  the  spot,  may  be  carried  away 
by  the  hot  tide  of  battle,  and  we  don't  blame  or  re 
proach  you  ;  we  only  do  regret  most  deeply  the  sad 
dest  event  which  has  taken  place  this  half-century. 

What  are  you  writing  now  ?  Is  Longfellow  writing 
anything  ?  Don't  let  him  forget  me.  Have  you  seen 
Norton  lately,  or  Mr.  Ticknor  ?  Can  you  tell  me  any 
thing  about  a  Mr.  Holland,  who  has  written  a  poem 
called  "  Bitter-Sweet "  ?  It  is  very  clever.  Milnes 
admires  it  immensely.  The  excitement  of  this  year's 
London  season  is  a  countryman  of  yours,  —  Mr.  Paul 
du  Chaillu.  H.  A.  BRIGHT. 


296  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

SEPTEMBER  10,  1861. 

...  I  don't  know  what  you  are  thinking  about 
this  most  frightful  war ;  I  can  only  hope  that  some 
how  or  other  it  will  soon  be  ended.  Here,  we  cannot 
but  feel  that  the  end  is  inevitable.  *  The  South  must 
and  will  be  independent  of  the  Union,  —  as  the 
United  States  would  be  independent  of  this  country. 
Why,  then,  this  cruel  waste  of  blood  and  treasure  ? 
In  your  last  letter,  I  remember  you  said,  "  We  shall 
be  better  off  without  the  South,  —  better  and  nobler 
than  hitherto,  —  without  them."  Is  not  this  still 
true  ?  Let  them  go ;  they  will  suffer  for  it.  You 
cannot  hold  them  as  conquered  provinces.  You  can 
not  compel  them  to  become  sister  States  again.  A 
fraternity  brought  about  by  the  cry  of  "  Fraternity 
or  death,"  will  not  be  very  cordial.  But  perhaps  you 
will  think  all  this  indifferent  and  heartless.  Indeed, 
indeed  it  is  not.  It  is  because  I  feel  so  very  strongly 
every  horror  of  this  civil  war,  —  because  I  know  men 
on  both  sides,  —  that  I  have  said  these  few  words. 
My  personal  feelings  must  of  course  always  be  with 
dear  old  Massachusetts ;  but  my  reason  and  con 
science  are  clear  as  to  the  wrong  and  uselessness  of 
this  most  dreadful  struggle.  You  will  forgive  me, 
if  you  disagree  with  me. 

—  All  this  goes  to  confirm  the  old  saying  that,  in 
politics  as  in  other  things,  it  is  not  safe  to  prophesy 
unless  you  know.  A  calmer,  more  sympathetic,  and 
more  penetrating  view  of  the  situation  is  contained 


THE  WAYSIDE  AND   THE  WAR.  297 

in  the  following  letter  from  another  Englishman, 
Henry  Wilding,  Hawthorne's  former  clerk  at  the 
Liverpool  Consulate,  and  at  this  time  holding  the 
rank  of  vice-consul :  — 

MY  DEAR  SIR, —  ...  I  often  think  of  you,  and 
wonder  what  your  feelings  are  with  regard  to  the 
fearful  events  now  happening.  On  this  side,  "the 
American  Civil  War"  is  the  prevailing  topic,  and 
the  commercial  and  manufacturing  classes,  at  all 
events,  are  decidedly  Southern  in  their  sympathies, 
and  I  believe  a  great  majority  of  the  leading  men 
in  politics  also  are.  It  is  not  easy  to  see  why  this 
is  so,  after  what  appeared  to  be  the  feeling  in  Eng 
land  against  slavery.  The  anti-slavery  people  profess 
to  believe  that  slavery  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
struggle ;  that  the  Federal  Government  are  no  more 
contending  for  the  abolition  of  slavery  than  are  the 
Confederates.  They  won't  see  that  the  contest  is  for 
the  abolition  of  slavery  in  the  only  way  that  reason 
able  men  in  America  have  ever  supposed  it  possible, 
by  confining  it  to  its  present  limits;  and  that  the 
South,  rather  than  submit  to  that,  will,  if  they  can, 
destroy  the  Union.  There  are  many  reasons  for  this 
feeling  in  England.  Tn  the  first  place,  I  believe 
Englishmen  instinctively  sympathize  with  rebels  — 
if  the  rebellion  be  not  against  England.  A  great 
many  also  desire  to  see  the  American  Union  divided, 
supposing  that  it  will  be  less  powerful,  and  less 
threatening  to  England.  All  the  enemies  of  popular 


298  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

government  —  and  there  are  plenty  even  in  England 
—  rejoice  to  see  what  they  suppose  to  be  the  failure 
of  Republican  institutions.  The  ship-owning  com 
munity  dislike  the  United  States  on  account  of  the 
coasting  navigation  laws,  and  believe  the  Southern 
profession  of  free  trade.  Merchants  and  manufac 
turers  want  cotton,  and  are  mad  with  the  United 
States  because  she  won't  make  peace  on  any  terms 
so  as  to  let  cotton  come.  Then  there  is  the  multitude 
who  are  habitually  led  by  the  "Times,"  and  the 
"  Times  "  has  been  Secession  all  along.  There  is  no 
doubt  great  suffering  will  be  felt  among  the  working 
classes  of  England  this  winter  on  account  of  the  war. 
I  feel  that  if  the  North  be  in  earnest,  and  the  leaders 
honest,  she  will  succeed  ;  and  I  hope  success  may 
come  soon.  Thinking  men  are  in  great  perplexity, 
and  watch  with  intense  interest  this  struggle  of 
popular  liberty  with  its  old  enemy,  oligarchy,  —  the 
government  of  the  few.  If  it  emerge  successful,  and 
its  own  master,  —  well  for  free  institutions  in  Eu 
rope  !  If  unsuccessful,  or  under  the  yoke  of  military 
despotism,  then  woe  for  them  !  They  will  be  in  the 
dust,  but  not  subdued.  Passing  events  will  indeed 
depress  one,  but  for  the  hope  in  Christ  of  a  peaceful 
hereafter,  when  the  selfish  and  unchristian  passions  of 
men  will  no  more  have  place.  .  .  . 

Ever  yours,  H.  WILDING. 

—  I  will  bring  this  chapter,  and  the  year  1861,  to 
a  close,  with  this  note  from  an   old  friend  of  Haw- 


THE  WAYSIDE  AND   THE  WAR.  299 

thorne.  It  would  appear,  from  the  mention  of  "  gray- 
head  spiders,"  that  Hawthorne  had  begun  to  turn  his 
thoughts  in  the  direction  of  Dr.  Grimshawe. 

OLD  SALT  HOUSE,  LONG  WHARF,  BOSTON, 
Monday,  Oct.  28,  1861. 

MY  DEAR  SIE,  —  I  took  the  liberty  of  sending  you 
this  morning  a  paper  containing  a  view  of  the  ex 
terior  of  my  old  store,  but  forgot  to  tell  you  that  I 
have  been  on  Long  Wharf  forty  years  !  —  thirty-one 
of  which  have  I  been  an  occupant  of  the  old  store. 
There  are  old  gray-head  spiders  still  here  with  whom 
I  have  been  acquainted  for  nearly  twenty  years,  and 
you,  can  well  understand  that  we  have  become  well 
acquainted  with  each  other.  Pray  drop  in  and  see 
the  old  fellows.  I  doubt  not  they  will  recognize  you 
as  an  old  friend. 

Always  sincerely  yours, 

JAMES  OAKES. 

KATH.  HAWTHORNE,  Esq. 


300  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 


CHAPTEE  IX. 
THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END. 

THE  following  winter  was  a  wearisome  one  for 
Hawthorne,  who  was  not  fond  of  cold  weather,  and 
was  not  in  the  humor  to  warm  himself  by  vigorous 
exercise  in  the  open  air.  In  the  "  Old  Manse "  days 
he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  walking  and  skating,  — 
according  to  his  wife,  he  was  a  graceful  skater,  —  and 
of  sawing  and  splitting  the  wood  for  the  family 
hearth.  But  now  he  devolved  these  offices  on  his 
son,  and  himself  remained  for  the  most  part  within 
doors.  He  had  begun  to  struggle  with  his  new  ro 
mance  the  previous  autumn,  and  wrote  the  first  study 
for  "  Septimius,"  which  has  never  been  published ; 
though,  as  a  study,  it  is  more  interesting  than  the 
second  (published)  version,  and  covers  more  paper. 
It  did  not  satisfy  him,  and  the  failure  increased  his 
depression,  by  confirming  the  notion  he  had  acquired 
that  he  was  no  longer  up  to  the  writing  mark.  In 
order  to  get  the  "  Septimius "  matter  off  his  mind, 
however,  he  rewrote  it  rapidly  to  a  conclusion, 
though  the  latter  part  of  it  at  least  was,  I  think,  com 
posed  in  a  spirit  of  irony  towards  himself.  "The 
whole  thing  is  nonsense,"  he  seems  to  say;  "let  113 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  301 

see  what  it  looks  like."  He  could  not  bring  himself 
into  sympathy  with  Septimius's  infatuation,  and  yet 
he  had  not  wished  to  write  a  commonplace  satire. 
That  a  studious  and  intelligent  young  man,  even  a 
hundred  years  ago,  should  solemnly  persuade  him 
self  that  he  could  brew  a  drink  that  would  confer  im 
mortal  life,  was  found,  upon  examination,  to  be  too 
improbable  to  be  entertained.  The  young  man  must 
be  a  fool ;  and  Hawthorne  finally  decides  that  he  is 
a  fool,  and  makes  him  appear  so.  The  fault  of  the 
story  was,  that  the  idea  had  not  been  presented  in 
the  right  way.  The  idea  in  itself  was  good  :  a  spirit 
ual  moral  was  to  be  deduced  from  it ;  but  it  must  not 
be  deliberately  and  consciously  evolved,  by  the  chief 
actor  in  the  drama.  Moreover,  the  Bloody  Footstep 
episode  did  not  assimilate  kindly  with  the  Immor 
tality  part  of  the  plot.  The  main  interest  should  be 
concentrated  upon  the  latter,  and  therefore  the  for 
mer  became  supererogatory ;  though  this,  too,  would 
be  available  enough  by  itself. 

In  fact,  he  next  began  to  consider  whether  it  might 
not  be  advisable  to  make  the  Bloody  Footstep  the 
central  thread  of  his  English  romance,  and  to  postpone, 
for  the  present  at  any  rate,  all  reference  to  the  theme 
of  immortality.  He  had  alread}r,  while  in  Florence, 
jotted  down  some  notes  for  such  a  story,  and  he  now 
proceeded  to  reinvestigate  the  matter.  The  first 
result  was  a  partially  complete  sketch,  in  which  the 
American  portion  of  the  tale  is  dismissed  in  a  dozen 
pages  or  so,  and  the  hero  is  brought  to  England  and 


302  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

carried  through  his  adventures  there,  ending  with  the 
discovery  of  the  imprisoned  ancestor  in  the  secret 
chamber.  In  the  manuscript  as  written  the  story  con 
tinually  breaks  off,  and  the  author  plunges  into  a  con 
versation  with  himself  (as  it  were)  upon  this  or  that 
obstinate  feature  of  the  plot  or  characters  ;  and,  hav 
ing  arrived  at  a  temporary  and  approximate  solution 
thereof,  goes  on  with  the  thread  of  the  narrative, 
until  another  hitch  occurs,  which  is  again  canvassed 
as  before.  By  the  time  he  got  to  the  end,  Hawthorne 
had  perceived  the  expediency  of  introducing  certain 
modifications  into  the  plot,  and  in  particular  of  giv 
ing  more  space  and  minuteness  to  the  American 
scenes.  He  consequently  turned  back,  and  began  the 
book  again,  importing  new  scenes  and  characters, 
and  continuing  until  the  hero  is  fairly  landed  in  Eng 
land,  and  has  come  into  relations  with  the  English 
personages  of  the  tale.  Here  the  revised  first  part 
overlaps  the  first,  and  connects  itself  with  it,  the 
last  sentence  of  the  former  being  identical  with  a 
corresponding  one  in  the  latter.  In  printing  the 
story  under  the  title  of  "Dr.  Grimshawe's  Secret,"  I 
ignored  so  much  of  the  original  as  is  covered  by 
the  revise,  and  omitted  the  intercalary  studies,  some 
parts  of  which  were  afterwards  printed  in  a  New 
York  magazine.  Of  course,  the  author  would  have 
rewritten  and  remodelled  the  whole,  before  publish 
ing  it. 

But  he  seems  to  have  come  to  the  conclusion  to 
abandon  the   whole  thing,  —  whether  from  lack  of 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  THE  END.  303 

physical  strength  to  carry  it  out  to  his  satisfaction,  or 
from  distrust  of  the  value  of  the  story  itself.  By 
this  time  also  he  had  got  new  light  upon  the  other 
theme,  —  that  of  immortality.  Instead  of  taking  as 
his  hero  a  youth  who  should  brew  the  elixir  of  mal 
ice  prepense,  he  would  have  an  aged  and  simple- 
minded  man,  just  on  the  brink  of  the  grave,  who,  half 
inadvertently,  should  dose  himself  from  time  to  time 
with  a  few  drops  of  a  certain  mysterious  cordial,  which 
was  among  the  legacies  of  a  deceased  predecessor.  By 
this  treatment  he  should  gradually  become  younger  ; 
yet  the  change  was  to  be  so  gradual  that  the  reader, 
as  well  as  the  old  gentleman  himself,  might  be  in 
doubt  whether  it  were  real  or  imaginary.  By  this 
means  the  technical  difficulties  and  incongruities  of 
the  "  Septimius  "  version  would  be  avoided,  or,  at  all 
events,  so  softened  and  moulded  as  not  to  interfere 
with  the  essential  power  and  beauty  of  the  concep 
tion.  And  it  was  upon  these  lines,  accordingly,  that 
"  The  Dolliver  Romance  "  was  begun  ;  which,  so  far 
as  it  goes,  is  the  most  exquisite  specimen  of  the  mere 
charm  of  narration  that  ever  came  from  Hawthorne's 
pen. 

But  I  am  anticipating  a  little.  After  giving  up 
"  Grimshawe,"  Hawthorne  —  not  entirely  to  lose  the 
labor  of  his  English  journalizing —  composed  from  his 
Note-Books,  from  time  to  time,  the  series  of  essays  on 
English  subjects  which  were  printed  in  the  "  Atlantic 
Monthly,"  and  afterwards  collected  in  a  volume  under 
the  title  of  "  Our  Old  Home."  They  were  paid  for 


304  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

at  the  rate  (I  believe)  of  two  hundred  dollars  each  in 
the  magazine.  Hawthorne  himself  took  little  inter 
est  in  the  completed  work.  It  was,  in  one  sense,  the 
record  of  a  failure,  —  a  failure  to  use  the  material  to 
better  purpose.  The  book  would  probably  have  been 
different  had  it  been  intended,  from  the  first,  to  write 
a  book  of  that  kind.  The  key,  however,  such  as  it  is, 
having  been  once  struck,  is  perfectly  kept  throughout, 
and  no  more  beautiful  example  of  English  compo.- 
sition  could  well  be  produced :  and  yet  the  changes 
from  the  original  version  in  the  journals  are  appar 
ently  very  slight.  But  they  are  just  the  right 
changes ;  and  a  certain  magical  translucence  is  given 
to  the  style  that  is  inimitable  and  indescribable.  The 
book  —  much  to  the  distress  and  consternation  of  its 
publisher  —  was  dedicated  to  Franklin  Pierce.  "  I 
find,"  Hawthorne  wrote,  "  that  it  would  be  a  piece  of 
poltroonery  in  me  to  withdraw  either  the  dedication  or 
the  dedicatory  letter.  ...  If  Pierce  is  so  exceedingly 
unpopular  that  his  name  is  enough  to  sink  the  volume, 
there  is  so  much  the  more  need  that  an  old  friend 
should  stand  by  him.  I  cannot,  merely  on  account 
of  pecuniary  profit  or  literary  reputation,  go  back 
from  what  I  have  deliberately  felt  and  thought  it 
right  to  do.  ...  As  for  the  literary  public,  it  must 
accept  my  book  precisely  as  I  see  fit  to  give  it,  or  let 
it  alone."  The  volume  was  accepted  very  cordially, 
at  least  in  this  country,  and  Hawthorne  expressed 
his  pleasure  at  the  appreciation,  though  remarking 
that  he  felt  "rather  gloomy"  about  the  book  himself. 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  305 

In  England,  as  will  be  remembered,  it  aroused  a  good 
deal  of  what  the  English  themselves  called  indigna 
tion.  We  should  probably  describe  the  feeling  by 
another  name.  Here  are  two  letters,  —  one  from 
Fanny  Aikin  Kortright,  whose  nom  de  plume  was 
Berkeley  Aikin,  the  author  of  some  very  able  novels; 
the  other  from  Francis  Bennoch.  The  latter's  defence 
of  English  fruit  is  not,  as  might  be  supposed,  a  jest, 
but  is  made  in  all  sadness  and  sincerity.  I  have  my 
self  heard  highly  educated  and  intelligent  Englishmen 
express  the  same  sentiments ;  and  it  is  also  a  fact 
that  they  prefer  —  at  any  rate,  they  say  that  they 
prefer —  their  oysters  to  ours  !  If  they  really  do  so, 
it  would  seem  almost  too  kind  a  dispensation  of 
Providence. 

DEAR  MR.  HAWTHORNE,  — ...  I  believe  and  am 
sure  that  "  The  Scarlet  Letter "  will  endure  as  long 
as  the  language  in  which  it  is  written ;  and  should 
that  language  become  dead,  the  wonderful  work  will 
be  translated.  Mr.  S.  C.  Hall  says  I  am  to  tell  you 
that  your  works  will  live  when  marble  crumbles  into 
dust.  I  can  well  understand  that  even  genius  stands 
breathless  in  silence,  watching  events ;  still,  master, 
yon  must  send  us  forth  some  fresh  enchantment  ere 
long,  though  you  have  done  so  much.  Forgive  my 
freedom,  dear  Mr.  Hawthorne,  and  imagine  me  the 
reader  you  speak  of  in  the  preface  to  "Transforma 
tion."  Forgive  me  also  if  I  ask  you  a  question.. 
What  is  the  event  you  refer  to  in  that  romance, 
VOL.  ii.  20 


306  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

which,  you  say,  must  be  fresh  in  the  memories  of 
men  as  having  happened  some  years  before  the  work 
was  written  ?  .  .  . 

Alas,  my  dear  Sir,  what  have  you  been  doing  to 
the  English  ladies  ?  You  might  almost  as  well  have 
sent  circular  letters  to  them  asking  their  ages,  as 
have  reflected  on  their  personal  appearance  !  I  have 
not  seen  your  new  book,  but  on  every  hand  I  hear, 
"  Mr.  Hawthorne  has  written  such  a  book  !  He  says 
the  English  ladies  are  all  like  —  like  —  beef!"  I 
cannot  make  out  even  from  literary  folks  that  you 
have  said  anything  else ;  but  this  bovine  matter  will 
not  easily  be  forgiven,  to  even  so  great  a  favorite  as 
yourself.  Oh,  pray  do  write  another  romance  to  wipe 
out  this  crime !  Let  us  have  a  new  Donatello  or 
something  else  very  beautiful,  such  as  you  alone  —  I 
really  believe — can  produce;  how  much  pleasanter 
it  will  be  reading  that  than  running  to  the  looking- 
glass  to  see  if  one  really  is  like  —  like  —  beef !  .  .  . 
I  hope  you  will  accept  my  best  good-wishes  for  your 
self  and  all  yours,  and  believe  me,  despite  the  bovine 
question,  as  much  as  ever 

Your  very  admiring  and  faithful 

B.  AlKIN. 

MY  DEAR  HAWTHORNE,  —  The  "Atlantic  "  Magazine 
brings  you  prominently  forward.  If  all  your  notes 
are  calculated  to  cast  such  poetical  halos  round  ordi 
nary  places  as  those  you  have  wreathed  round  one 
old  cottage  in  Blackheath  Park,  I  fear  the  owners 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  307 

and  neighbors  will  hardly  know  their  own  homes.  It 
is  of  course  to  us  a  marvellous  evidence  of  power. 
Had  every  incident  been  photographed,  the  descrip 
tions  could  not  have  been  more  vivid.  Let  me,  how 
ever,  set  you  right  on  two  points.  You  refer  to  some 
wretched  fruit-trees  fastened  to  a  dingy  wall,  and 
wonder  if  anybody  ever  tasted  good  fruit  in  England. 
Now  it  so  happens  that  the  only  fruit-trees  so  impaled 
were  one  or  two  morella  cherries,  not  meant  to  be 
eaten  until  they  have  had  a  month's  soaking  in  good 
brandy,  and  that  cherry-brandy  is  tipple  for  the  god 
desses.  We  won't  be  put  down  as  to  the  quality  of 
our  fruit,  but  challenge  all  creation.  I  should  like 
to  know  whether  all  America  could  equal  our  straw 
berries,  cherries,  grapes,  Eibston  pippins,  pineapples, 
etc.,  etc. ;  and  as  for  pears  —  my  teeth  water  when  I 
think  of  them.  A  friend  of  mine  who  was  in  Amer 
ica  last  year  declares  on  his  honor  that,  with  one  or 
two  exceptions,  he  never  tasted  throughout  America 
an  apple  better  than  a  crab-apple  in  England.  They 
were  so  sour  that  he  has  never  been  able  to  look 
pleasant  since. 

"  Kiss  in  the  Ring,"  too,  you  misdescribe,  and  make 
what  is  really  a  very  pretty  game  of  forfeits  when 
played  with  pretty  people,  to  appear  absolutely  loath 
some.  The  game  is  this :  boys  and  girls  alter 
nately  take  hands  and  form  a  ring.  A  youth  armed 
with  a  handkerchief  paces  round  the  ring  and  drops 
it  at  the  feet  of  the  girl  he  admires.  He  then  slips 
under  the  festooned  hands,  escapes  from  the  ring  and 


308  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

runs,  not  to  escape  but  to  be  overtaken ;  when,  being 
caught/  he  gallantly  conducts  the  damsel  back  into 
the  centre  of  the  ring,  where,  lifting  his  hat,  he  kisses 
the  cheek  of  the  fair  one,  takes  the  place  where  she 
had  stood,  completes  the  ring,  and  the  beauty  drops 
her  handkerchief  at  the  feet  of  some  eager  swain,  and 
off  she  flies  like  a  deer  pursued  by  the  swift-footed 
buck.  At  the  first  she  runs  rapidly,  but,  somehow, 
she  always  slackens  her  pace  in  time,  and  willingly 
becomes  a  captive ;  and  so  the  game  goes  on.  Here, 
too,  you  take  the  opportunity  of  having  a  fling  at 
English  beauty,  contrasting  it  unfavorably  with  that 
fragile  and  most  delicate  fabric  of  American  woman 
hood.  This  won't  do !  For  either  grace  or  loveli 
ness,  good  bearing  or  refined  gentleness,  I  '11  back 
England's  daughters  against  the  world ;  unless  it  be 
our  new  princess,  who  is  a  very  charming  piece  of 
humanity. 

I  have  neither  time  nor  inclination  to  talk  politics, 
so  I  won't  begin.  I  should  only  irritate  you,  although 
I  must  congratulate  you  on  personally  belonging  to 
the  rising  and  what  must  be  the  controlling  party 
soon.  When  are  we  to  have  your  new  romance  ? 

With  all  best  wishes  from  me  and  mine  to  you 
and  yours,  I  am 

Your  attached 

F.  BENNOCH. 

—  In  the  spring  of  1862  Hawthorne  took  a  trip  to 
Washington  and  to  the  outskirts  of  the  seat  of  war, 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  THE  END.  309 

chiefly  for  the  benefit  of  his  health.  The  journey 
proved  to  be  an  agreeable  one ;  and  its  literary  result 
was  an  article,  "  Chiefly  about  War  Matters,"  contrib 
uted  to  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly."  While  in  Washing 
ton  he  met  Leutze,  the  artist  and  consented  to  sit  to 
him  for  a  portrait.  I  do  not  know  what  has  become 
of  this  portrait ;  but  it  is  said  to  have  been  successful. 
In  the  sitter's  opinion,  it  would  be  "  the  best  ever 
painted  of  the  same  unworthy  subject."  He  was  also 
photographed  twice  or  thrice,  with  only  indifferent 
results.  "My  hair  is  not  really  so  white.  .  .  .  The 
sun  seems  to  take  an  infernal  pleasure  in  making  me 
venerable  —  as  if  I  were  as  old  as  himself."  He  saw 
the  President,  and  also  General  McClellan,  whose 
aspect  and  bearing  pleased  him  greatly ;  and  he  came 
into  close  enough  contact  with  the  Confederates  to  be 
conscious  of  a  passing  shadow  of  peril.  Altogether, 
the  experience  was  of  some  benefit  to  him.  He  sent 
the  following  letter  to  his  daughter :  — 

WASHINGTON,  Sunday,  March  16,  1862. 

DEAR  UNA,  —  I  have  never  a  moment's  time  to 
write,  for  I  move  about  all  day,  and  am  engaged  all 
the  evening ;  and  if  ever  there  is  a  vacant  space,  I 
want  to  employ  it  in  writing  my  journal,  which  keeps 
terribly  behindhand.  But  I  suppose  mamma  and  the 
rest  of  you  sometimes  remember  there  is  such  a  per 
son,  and  wish  to  know  what  I  am  about.  I  went  up 
yesterday  to  Harper's  Ferry  (a  distance  of  eighty  miles 
from  Washington)  by  invitation  of  the  directors  of  a 


310  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS  WIFE. 

railroad ;  so  that  I  made  the  whole  journey  without 
expense,  and  partook  of  two  cold  collations  besides. 
To  be  sure,  I  paid  my  expenses  with  a  speech;  but 
it  was  a  very  short  one.  I  shall  not  describe  what  I 
saw,  because  very  likely  I  shall  print  it  in  the  "Atlan 
tic  Monthly;"  but  I  made  acquaintance  with  some 
rebel  prisoners,  and  liked  them  very  much.  It  rained 
horribly  all  day,  and  the  mud  was  such  as  nobody  in 
New  England  can  conceive  of.  I  have  shaken  hands 
with  Uncle  Abe,  and  have  seen  various  notabilities, 
and  am  infested  by  people  who  want  to  exhibit  me 
as  a  lion.  I  have  seen  a  camp,  and  am  going  in  a 
few  days  to  Manassas,  if  the  mud  of  the  Sacred  Soil 
will  permit.  Tell  mamma  that  the  outcry  opened 
against  General  McClellan,  since  the  enemy's  retreat 
from  Manassas,  is  really  terrible,  and  almost  univer 
sal  ;  because  it  is  found  that  we  might  have  taken 
their  fortifications  with  perfect  ease  six  months  ago, 
they  being  defended  chiefly  by  wooden  guns.  Unless 
he  achieves  something  wonderful  within  a  week,  he 
will  be  removed  from  command,  and  perhaps  shot,  — 
at  least  I  hope  so ;  I  never  did  more  than  half  believe 
in  him.  By  a  message  from  the  State  Department,  I 
have  reason  to  think  that  there  is  money  enough  due 
me  from  the  Government  to  pay  the  expenses  of  my 
journey.  I  think  the  public  buildings  are  as  tine  if 
not  finer  than  anything  we  saw  in  Europe.  I  am 
very  well.  I  have  no  doubt  that  Julian  well  sup 
plies  my  place  as  the  head  of  the  family.  I  hope 
the  masquerade  passed  off  to  the  satisfaction  of  all 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  THE  END.  311 

concerned.     I  send  my  love  to  everybody  (within  our 
own  circle,  I  mean),  and  remain 

Your  dutiful  father,  1ST.  H. 

I  forget  the  date  of  mamma's  last  letter ;  but  two 
days  have  intervened  since  I  received  it.  I  shall  set 
out  on  my  return  within  a  day  or  two  after  I  have 
been  to  Manassas ;  but  the  weather  is  so  uncertain, 
and  the  road  so  difficult,  that  I  scarcely  hope  to  go 
thither  much  before  the  end  of  this  week.  I  have 
really  so  little  time  to  write,  that  you  may  very  prob 
ably  see  me  again  before  hearing  from  me ;  but  not, 
at  soonest,  till  the  early  part  of  next  week. 

Thank  Bab  for  her  note.  Neither  you  nor  Julian 
can  claim  any  thanks  on  that  score ;  and  as  for 
mamma,  her  letters  are  beyond  thanks. 

—  The  article  above  mentioned  was  published  in 
July,  1862.  It  was  written  with  great  frankness, 
insomuch  that  the  editor  of  the  magazine  was  some 
what  apprehensive  of  the  consequences ;  but  Haw 
thorne  would  abate  nothing  of  his  utterances.  He, 
however,  ironically  appended  annotations  to  the  more 
hazardous  portions,  purporting  to  be  the  horror- 
stricken  comments  of  the  editor  upon  the  writer's 
want  of  patriotism.  Intentionally  absurd  though 
these  "comments"  were,  they  seem  to  have  possessed 
verisimilitude  enough  to  deceive  most  readers ;  and  I 
remember  that  one  person,  who  felt  the  indignation 
which  they  pretended  to  express,  declared,  when 


312  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

apprised  of  their  true  authorship,  "Then  I  have  no 
respect  for  a  man  who  runs  with  the  hare,  and  hunts 
with  the  hounds  ! "  But  our  sense  of  humor  in 
New  England  was,  at  this  period,  not  seldom  exani- 
mated  by  our  insatiable  political  conscientiousness. 
Another  gentleman,  whose  letter  is  subjoined,  takes 
an  equally  serious  view  in  the  opposite  direction. 

EDGEWOOD,  NEW  HAVEN,  July  5,  1862. 

MY  DEAR  SIR, —  I  am  glad  to  see  your  mark  in 
the  "Atlantic;"  but  should  be  ready  to  swear  —  if 
I  swore  —  at  the  marginal  impertinences.  Pray,  is 
Governor  Andrew  editor  ?  A  man's  opinions  can 
take  no  catholic  or  philosophic  range  nowadays,  but 
they  call  out  some  shrewish  accusation  of  disloyalty. 
It  is  to  me  one  of  the  most  humiliating  things  about 
our  present  national  status,  that  no  talk  can  be  toler 
ated  which  is  not  narrowed  to  the  humor  of  our 
tyrannic  majority.  I  can  recognize  the  enormity  of 
basing  a  new  nationality,  in  our  day,  upon  slavery; 
but  why  should  this  blind  me  to  all  other  enormities  ? 
I  have  no  hope  for  the  country,  as  a  unit,  in  our 
generation ;  and  I  hope  your  personal  relations  (if 
you  have  any)  with  General  Butler  will  excuse  my 
saying  that  he  is  the  best  representative  of  barbarism 
in  our  epoch.  It  is  quite  in  keeping  that  "  Harpers' 
Journal  of  Civilization  "  should  eulogize  him. 
I  remain  very  truty  yours, 

DONALD  G.  MITCHELL. 
NATH.  HAWTHORNE,  Esq. 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  313 

—  In  the  course  of  the  article  Hawthorne  made  an 
allusion  to  the  recent  action  between  the  "  Cumber 
land  "  and  the  "  Merrimac/'  in  which  the  former  was 
sunk  by  the  Confederate  ironclad.  Longfellow  has 
immortalized  the  same  incident  in  one  of  his  most 
stirring  lyrics,  beginning, — 

"  At  anchor  in  Hampton  Roads  we  lay, 

On  board  of  the  'Cumberland,'  sloop-of-war." 

The  "  Cumberland "  was  commanded  by  a  gallant 
young  officer,  George  U.  Morris:  — 

"  '  Strike  your  flag  ! '  the  rebel  cries, 

In  his  arrogant,  old-plantation  strain  ; 
'  Never  ! '  our  gallant  Morris  replies,  — 
'  It  is  better  to  sink  than  to  yield  ! '  — 
And  the  whole  air  pealed 
With  the  cheers  of  our  men." 

Among  the  letters  left  by  Hawthorne  I  found  one 
from  "  our  gallant  Morris "  himself,  written  in  a 
round,  schoolboy  hand,  but  well  worth  reproducing 
here. 

U.  S.  GUNBOAT  "  PORT  ROYAL,"  APPALACHICOLA,  FLA., 

March  20,  1863. 
MR.  N.  HAWTHORNE. 

DEAR  SIR, — I  received  to-day  from  a  friend  the  July, 
1862,  number  of  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly."  Please  ac 
cept  my  heartfelt  thanks  for  the  flattering  manner  in 
which  you  mentioned  my  having  performed  my  duty 
faithfully.  As  you  almost  predicted,  the  Government 
has  not  promoted  me,  though  it  did  Worden ;  but  you 


314  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

must  remember  he  was  successful,  and  without  loss,  — 
I  unsuccessful,  and  with  a  very  heavy  loss.  But,  sir, 
even  had  I  been  "  honored  by  Government  and  other 
authorities,"  I  assure  you  it  could  not  have  caused  me 
more  pleasure  than  I  felt  when  reading  your  remarks 
concerning  the  fight  between  the  "  Merrimac "  and 
"  Cumberland."  It  was  a  proud  and  high  honor  to 
receive  for  having  tried  to  sustain  unspotted  the  honor 
of  our  Flag,  which  my  father  had  so  well  sustained 
before  me.  Believe  me 

Eespectfully  and  gratefully  yours, 

GEORGE  U.  MORRIS, 

Lieut.  Com'g  U.  S.  N. 

—  Hawthorne  returned  to  Concord  about  the  end  of 
March,  1862,  but  did  little  literary  work  besides  finish 
ing  his  article,  and  writing  a  short  narrative  for  the 
"  Weal  Reaf,"  —  a  small  sheet  published  at  a  fair  at  the 
Essex  Institute,  in  aid  of  some  patriotic  purpose.  It 
described  a  boyish  reminiscence  of  a  legend  connected 
with  an  old  house  in  the  neighborhood,  called  "  Browne's 
Folly."  In  sending  the  narrative  to  his  sister,  he 
wrote :  — 

DEAR  ELIZABETH,  —  It  seemed  to  me  most  con 
venient  to  write  this  article  in  the  form  of  a  letter, 
and  it  may  be  published  just  as  it  stands.  I  wish 
you  to  correct  the  proof-sheets,  and  to  be  very  careful 
about  it.  The  Essex  Institute  certainly  ought  to  be 
grateful  to  me,  for  I  could  get  $100  for  such  an 
article.  N.  H. 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  315 

—  In  the  following  July  he  made  another  excur 
sion  to  the  seaside  with  his  son,  this  time  to  West 
Gouldsboro',  Maine,  on  the  mainland  opposite  Mt. 
Desert.  The  journey  thither  was.  made  by  boat,  rail, 
stage,  turn  and  turn  about,  and  made  an  impression 
of  adventure  upon  the  younger  of  the  two  travellers  ; 
from  whose  journal  I  will  make  a  few  extracts  :  — 

"  Our  boat  was  to  start  at  seven  in  the  evening ;  and 
after  eating  some  ice-cream  in  a  restaurant,  we  drove 
down  to  the  wharf.  The  boat  is  described  as  'The1 
New  and  Splendid  Steamship,  Eastern  Queen  ; '  but 
it  could  not  have  been  new  less  than  twenty  years  ago, 
and  all  the  splendor  consisted  in  a  gaudily  painted 
paddle-box.  We  were  already  hungry  when  we  got 
on  board,  but  were  then  informed,  to  our  surprise  and 
consternation,  that  nothing  to  eat  was  ever  provided 
on  these  steamers.  It  was  a  long  time  before  we  could 
get  a  stateroom,  and  then  it  was  only  six  feet  square, 
with  no  window  to  let  in  the  air.  We  turned  in  sup- 
perless.  During  the  night  there  was  a  big  thunder 
storm,  and  the  waves  were  pretty  high.  Next  morning 
there  was  a  thick  fog,  but  it  gradually  cleared  away, 
and  showed  the  rocky  banks  of  the  river. 

"  At  last  we  stopped  at  a  small  place  called  Bath, 
and  papa  said  he  would  go  on  shore  and  get  something 
to  eat.  I  went  witli  him,  and  we  had  just  drunk  a 
glass  of  cider,  and  were  bargaining  for  half  a  dozen 
biscuits,  when  there  was  an  alarm  of  the  boat  starting. 
We  ran  back  just  in  time  to  get  on  board  by  a  desper 
ate  leap.  Continuing  on  up  the  river,  with  occasional 


316  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

short  stoppages,  we  finally  reached  our  destination, 
Hallowell,  and  immediately  boarded  an  old  stage 
coach,  with  '  Hallowell  House '  written  on  it.  The 
town  was  in  great  commotion  at  the  departure  of  its 
volunteers,  who  were  just  going  off  in  the  train.  It 
was  then  about  eleven :  our  train  was  to  start  at  four. 
The  most  interesting  thing  we  did  in  Hallowell  was 
to  eat  our  dinner,  which  consisted  chiefly  of  thin  soup 
and  a  very  tough  beefsteak.  When  the  train  came,  it 
'  was  so  crowded  that  we  could  hardly  find  seats  ;  arid 
tired  as  we  were  already,  we  had  a  three-hours'  hot 
ride  before  us.  The  road  lay  through  tangled  pine- 
woods,  -and  clearings  covered  with  the  stumps  of  trees, 
and  over  bridges  with  rocky  streams  tumbling  under 
neath,  and  then  into  another  wild  wood,  and  so  on.  It 
was  dusk  when  we  reached  Bangor.  We  got  into  an 
old  stage,  and  drove  to  the  '  Penobscot  Exchange.' 

"  This  morning  we  took  a  walk  round  the  town.  It 
is  large,  with  well-built  brick  houses  and  broad  streets. 
There  are  a  great  many  churches,  and  stables,  and 
stove-shops,  and  a  great  dearth  of  bookstores  for  so 
large  a  town.  Enlisting  is  going  on  here  very  fast ; 
crowds  of  men  are  collected  all  about,  talking  it 
over. 

"  We  left  Bangor  at  night  by  stage-coach,  and  drove 
all  night  over  rough  roads,  up  hill  and  down,  for 
thirty  miles.  Papa  rode  inside,  and  I  outside.  There 
were  more  than  twenty  passengers  on  board,  and  a 
great  deal  of  luggage.  I  sat  on  the  box  with  the 
driver,  and  a  returned  invalid  soldier  from  the  Pen- 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  THE  END.  317 

who  drank  out  of  a  bottle,  and  sang  songs, 
and  told  stories,  all  the  way.  The  driver,  on  being 
offered  whiskey,  refused,  saying,  '  I  never  drank  a  drop 
in  my  life,  —  no,  sir  !  nary  ! '  There  was  beautiful 
moonlight,  but  it  was  very  cold.  We  drove  among 
high  hills,  with  now  and  then  a  lake  between  them, 
reflecting  the  moon.  Most  of  the  hills  were  covered 
with  loose  boulders  of  rock.  We  had  four  horses.  The 
men  here  are  fine  fellows,  better  than  our  Massachu 
setts  folk ;  they  are  mostly  six-footers  or  seven-footers. 
Mr.  Sanborn  would  be  thought  nothing  of  here. 

"We  have  just  met  Mr.  George  Bradford,  who  says 
West  Gouldsboro'  is  a  delightful  place,  with  beautiful 
scenery,  entire  seclusion,  plenty  of  fishing,  and  a  boat 
to  row.  Papa  enjoys  the  prospect  very  much.  The 
only  drawback  is,  that  it  is  rather  rainy. 

" .  .  .  We  are  living  in  a  small  farm-house  close  by 
the  beach.  Our  landlord,  Mr.  Hill,  is  tall  and  broad- 
shouldered,  with  a  high  head,  aquiline  nose,  and  large 
chin.  He  is  over  sixty,  but  looks  strong  and  heart)7. 
At  such  an  age  a  man's  head  is  generally  partly  bald ; 
but  though  his  hair  is  perfectly  white,  it  covers  his 
head  all  over,  and  is  cropped  short.  When  in  doubt 
or  perplexity,  he  scratches  it.  He  is  sensible  on  poli 
tics,  and  is  not  (like  his  daughter)  an  abolitionist,  but 
can  hear  and  understand  two  sides  of  a  thing.  He 
eats  with  his  knife ;  but  so  does  everybody  here.  He 
blows  his  nose  every  day  at  dinner,  once,  and  very 
hard.  When  one  answers  a  question  of  his,  he  always 
says,  '  Oh,  yes  ! '  as  if  he  was  reminded  of  something 


318  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 


he  had  forgotten.  His  daughter  does  the  same.  She 
is  about  thirty,  very  deaf,  square  and  broad-shouldered, 
with  a  strong-minded  sort  of  face.  When  she  is  talk 
ing,  she  keeps  her  hand  to  her  right  ear,  to  catch  the 
answer.  She  says  she  has  an  ear-trumpet,  but  she 
does  not  use  it.  Every  evening  papa  has  political 
discussions  with  Mr.  Hill  and  Miss  Charlotte.  He 
addresses  himself  chiefly  to  Mr.  Hill,  but  since  the 
daughter  is  always  sitting  by,  papa  has  to  talk  loud 
so  that  she  may  hear ;  but  the  old  man  is  not  deaf, 
and  does  not  need  to  be  shouted  at.  Altogether  it  is 
rather  awkward." 

Hawthorne  himself  made  some  brief  entries  in  the 
journal.  Speaking  of  the  volunteers,  he  says:  "  The 
bounties  offered  by  the  General  and  State  Govern 
ments,  and  largely  increased  by  the  towns,  make  a 
very  strong  inducement  to  young  men  who  have 
never  seen,  or  would  be  likely  to  see,  so  much  money 
together  as  is  now  within  their  reach,  — between  two 
and  three  hundred  dollars  in  some  cases  ;  and  no  doubt 
Yankee  thrift  combines  with  love  of  adventure  and 
love  of  country,  to  urge  them  on.  It  is  remarkable 
how  many  stalwart  men  cannot  pass  the  medical 
examination,  on  account  of  some  unsuspected  and 
unapparent  defect.  One  third,  at  least,  seem  to  fall 
within  this  class. 

"  The  people  of  Maine,  I  think,  are  very  much 
ruder  of  aspect  than  those  of  Massachusetts,  but 
quite  as  intelligent,  and  as  comprehensive  of  the 
affairs  of  the  time.  Indeed,  intelligence  might  well 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  THE  END.  319 

be  more  general  than  with  us,  because  high  and  low 
sit  down  together  in  bar-rooms,  and  intermix  freely 
in  talk.  At  one  hotel  in  Ellsworth  there  was  a  Colo 
nel  Burnham,  home  on  furlough  from  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac,  —  quite  a  distinguished  officer,  I  believe, 
and  in  my  judgment  a  very  reliable  man,  fit  to  lead 
men  in  perils  and  difficulties.  He  is  a  middle-aged 
man,  or  little  more;  a  dark,  intelligent,  rather  kindly- 
looking  man,  with  black  hair  curling  on  his  head, 
and  a  black  beard  and  mustache,  and  wearing  a 
black  national  wide-awake,  —  giving  him  an  air  some 
thing  between  a  soldier  and  a  bandit,  —  his  shoulder- 
straps  having  two  stars  on  them,  in  token  of  his  rank. 
He  was  smoking  a  German  pipe,  and  talked  in  a 
quick,  good-humored,  familiar  way  about  his  adven 
tures,  answering  the  questions  of  all  and  sundry 
familiarly,  not  repelling  the  humblest,  but  yet  with 
a  kind  of  natural  dignity  that  would  not  be  presumed 
upon.  He  had  been  in  all  McClellan's  six  days' 
battles,  and  in  how  many  more  I  know  not ;  and 
without  volunteering  any  account  of  his  perils  and 
achievements,  was  quite  willing  to  talk  of  them,  in 
an  unaffected  way,  when  asked.  He  had  been  in  the 
lumber  business,  and  had  doubtless  met  with  adven 
tures,  and  been  thrown  into  positions,  as  a  captain 
of  logging  men,  that  gave  him  some  experience  such 
as  a  military  man  might  need ;  at  least,  he  had  led 
a  hardy  life,  and  so  was  not  to  be  abashed  by  the 
roughness  of  war.  Another  officer,  an  elderly  man, 
who  had  likewise  been  with  the  Army  of  the  Poto- 


320  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

mac,  came  to  see  him,  and  eke  out  his  camp  and 
battle  reminiscences ;  and  there  was  a  young  lieu 
tenant  from  Port  Eoyal,  a  handsome  youth,  who  had 
returned  in  very  ill  health,  but  now  seemed  in  a 
hopeful  state  of  convalescence.  There  were  likewise 
in  the  group  some  of  the  notables  of  the  town :  the 
lawyer,  probably,  and  the  editor  of  the  village  news 
paper  ;  and  besides  these,  some  private  soldiers  of  the 
Colonel's  own  and  other  regiments.  These  latter 
made  him  the  proper  military  salute  ;  after  which 
he  conversed  affably  with  them,  and  one  or  two  of 
them  hesitated  not  to  put  in  their  remarks  among 
those  of  the  other  interlocutors,  —  the  Colonel  not 
shunning  their  familiarities,  yet  neither  he  nor  they 
forgetting  their  relative  positions.  It  \vas  curious 
to  see  how  all  parties  could  so  freely  dispense  with 
ceremony  and  formalities,  and  yet  not  transgress  any 
nice  respect  that  ought  to  be  observed.  There  was 
no  condescension  on  the  Colonel's  part,  nor  aspira 
tion  on  the  other  side,  and  yet  they  met  in  a  very 
natural  and  agreeable  way.  By  and  by  the  Colonel 
(who  was  quite  the  lion  of  the  day)  drove  off  with 
a  friend  in  a  one-horse  wagon,  and  the  company 
(after  discussing  him  for  a  while,  with  a  laudatory 
summing-up,  and  somebody  remarking  that  the  Colo 
nel  was  making  more  money  now  than  in  the  lum 
ber  business)  dispersed." —  This  is  an  American  Van 
Ostade,  painted  with  the  careless  ease  of  a  master. 

We  lived  at  Mr.  Hill's  in  peace  and  plenty  for 
two  wreeks  or  more.     We  went  out  rowing  every  day 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  321 

in  the  boat,  and  fished  for  flounders  in  the  bay,  and 
landed  on  the  islands,  and  went  in  swimming.  There 
was  a  society  of  young  girls  and  fellows  in  the  neigh 
borhood,  and  one  day  we  went  on  a  picnic  with 
them,  —  about  twenty  of  us,  —  and  cooked  a  chowder 
on  the  beach,  which  we  ate  with  clam-shell  spoons  ; 
and  afterwards  danced  in  a  barn,  while  Miss  Char 
lotte  played  on  the  fiddle.  Every  day  we  took  walks 
through  the  pastures  and  along  the  coast,  eating  great 
quantities  of  blueberries,  blackberries,  raspberries,  and 
gooseberries,  and  pelting  each  other  with  green  elder 
berries  on  the  way  home.  Sometimes  we  would  sit 
for  hours  beneath  the  shadow  of  a  rock,  with  a  lovely 
scene  spread  out  before  us,  while  Hawthorne  smoked 
a  cigar,  and  his  son  washed  he  might  do  likewise. 
At  length  Hawthorne  wrote  home  that  "  it  will  be 
impossible  tor  us  to  stay  longer  than  till  a  week  from 
to-morrow,  because  Julian's  breeches  are  in  such  ter 
rible  disrepair,  what  with  bushes,  briers,  swamps, 
rocks,  beach,  mud,  sea-water,  and  various  hard  usage 
and  mischances.  Neither  could  I  keep  myself  decent 
a  great  many  days  longer.  I  struggle  hard  to  prevent 
him  from  spoiling  his  light  trousers,  because  if  he 
spoils  them,  he  will  inevitably  be  compelled  to  stay 
in  bed  all  summer."  So  we  bade  farewell  to  our 
host  and  hostess  about  the  1st  of  September,  and 
got  back  to  Concord  two  days  later.  We  hoped  to 
go  back  again  next  year ;  but  this  was  the  last  ex 
cursion  we  ever  were  to  make  together. 

During  the  autumn  there  was  a  good  deal  of  social 

VOL.  II.  21 


HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS  WIFE. 

gayety  in  Concord,  in  spite  of  the  war,  and  although 
several  of  our  schoolboys  had  enlisted  and  gone  to 
the  front ;  we  had  one  or  two  little  parties  at  our 
own  house ;  and  several  times  Mr.  Alcott's  daughters 
came  over  to  play  cards.  The  "  Nonsense  Verses  " 
were  coming  into  vogue  at  this  epoch,  and  everybody 
was  trying  his  own  hand  at  producing  them  ;  and 
Hawthorne  once  took  a  piece  of  paper  and  scratched 
off  the  following  bit  of  doggerel,  which  I  am  sure  the 
revered  subject  of  it  will  not  object  to  see  in  print: 

"  There  dwelt  a  Sage  at  Apple-Slump, 
Whose  dinner  never  made  him  plump  ; 
Give  him  carrots,  potatoes,  squash,  parsnips,  and  peas, 
And  some  boiled  macaroni,  without  any  cheese, 
And  a  plate  of  raw  apples,  to  hold  on  his  knees, 
And  a  glass  of  sweet  cider,  to  wash  down  all  these,  — 
And  he  'd  prate  of  the  Spirit  as  long  as  you  'd  please,  — 
This  airy  Sage  of  Apple-Slump  ! " 

Another  ballad,  on  another  subject,  ran  as  follows : 

"  There  was  an  old  Boy,  with  a  new  coat  and  breeches, 
Who  jumped  over  fences,  and  tumbled  in  ditches, 

While  the  mud  and  the  mire 

Spattered  higher  and  higher, 

Till  he  went  to  the  fire, 

And,  as  he  grew  drier, 
Burnt  great  holes  in  his  new  coat  and  breeches  !  " 

And  here  is  still  another  :  — 

"  There  was  an  Old  Lady  of  Guessme, 
Whose  talking  did  greatly  distress  me  ; 

She  talked  of  the  nigger, 

And  still  she  grew  bigger, 
This  tiresome  Old  Lady  of  Guessme  !  " 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  323 

The  winter  had  always  been  Hawthorne's  best  time 
for  work ;  and  after  completing  his  volume  of  English 
sketches,  he  applied  himself  to  the  "  Dolliver  Ro 
mance."  Contrary  to  his  usual  custom,  he  permitted 
his  publisher  to  begin  the  serial  issue  of  the  story  in 
a  magazine,  but  he  never  expected  to  furnish  the 
monthly  instalments  regularly ;  and  it  was  against 
his  better  judgment  that  any  of  it  saw  the  light  until 
the  whole  was  finished.  It  was  hoped,  however,  that 
when  he  had  once  made  a  beginning,  he  would  be 
stimulated  to  continue.  But,  "there  is  something 
preternatural,"  he  writes,  "  in  my  reluctance  to  begin. 
I  linger  at  the  threshold,  and  have  a  perception  of 
very  disagreeable  phantoms  to  be  encountered  if  I 
enter.  ...  I  don't  see  much  probability  of  my  hav 
ing  the  first  chapter  of  the  Eomance  ready  as  soon 
as  you  want  it.  There  are  two  or  three  chapters 
ready  to  be  written,  but  I  am  not  robust  enougli 
to  begin,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  should  never  carry  it 
through."  And  again:  "I  am  not  quite  up  to  writ 
ing  yet,  but  shall  make  an  effort  as  soon  as  I  see 
any  hope  of  success.  You  ought  to  be  thankful  that 
(like  most  other  broken-down  authors)  I  do  not 
pester  you  with  decrepit  pages,  and  insist  upon 
your  accepting  them  as  full  of  the  old  spirit  and 
vigor.  That  trouble,  perhaps,  still  awaits  you,  after 
I  shall  have  reached  a  further  stage  of  decay. 
Seriously,  my  mind  has,  for  the  present,  lost  its 
temper  and  its  fine  edge,  and  I  have  an  instinct 
that  I  had  better  keep  quiet.  Perhaps  I  shall 


324  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

have  a  new  spirit  of  vigor,  if  I  wait  quietly  for  it ; 
perhaps  not." 

His  untoward  condition  was  made  worse  by  the 
illness  of  his  daughter  Una,  caused  chiefly  by  the 
after  effects  of  the  quinine  she  had  taken  in  Rome. 
The  least  mischance  to  Una  wrung  her  father's  heart ; 
and  it  seemed,  for  a  time,  as  if  her  ailment  might 
turn  out  very  seriously.  Her  aunt,  Miss  Elizabeth 
Hawthorne,  who  was  also  extremely  fond  of  her,  wrote 
inviting  her  to  visit  Beverly,  near  Salem,  for  change 
of  air  and  scene,  and  Una  went.  In  the  course  of 
her  letter  Miss  Hawthorne  says  in  reference  to  "  Our 
Old  Home  :  "  — 

"I  do  not,  as  you  suppose  I  do,  like  to  see  the 
English  abused;  but  your  papa  is  never  abusive,  only 
appreciative,  which  I  think  nobody  ever  was  before, 
and  only  an  American  ever  can  be ;  for  the  mind  of 
a  cultivated  American  must  necessarily  be  fed  upon 
the  best  that  other  nations  can  supply,  and  so  is  likely 
to  share  in  the  qualities  of  all,  —  sufficiently,  at  least, 
to  discover  their  real  nature.  As  for  the  English,  there 
were  no  eyes,  at  least  no  earthly  eyes,  to  survey  them 
before  they  came  under  your  papa's  observation  ;  and 
as  for  any  supervision  from  on  high,  they  seem  to 
live  in  the  most  heathenish  unconsciousness  of  it, 
and,  indeed,  of  the  existence  of  anything  above 
themselves.  Their  supreme  praise  is,  that  a  thing  is 
English;  and  their  censure,  when  bestowed  upon  any 
person  of  another  nation  is,  that  an  Englishman 
would  not  have  done  or  said  so  and  so.  There  is 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  325 

no  right  and  wrong,  —  only  English  and  un-English. 
What  time  is  to  develop  in  them,  of  course,  cannot 
be  foretold ;  but  if  they  were  to  perish  now,  to  be 
turned  into  stone,  for  instance,  becoming  motionless 
in  whatever  movement  was  in  progress,  would  they 
not  save  their  life  by  losing  it?  And  should  you  not 
revisit  England  with  more  interest  than  you  could 
feel  to  see  them  in  their  present  transition  state  ? 
There  are  symptoms  of  weakness  apparent  in  their 
condition  which  I  am  half  sorry  for.  Lord  Palmer- 
ston  is  always  assuring  the  public  that  'the  most 
perfect  concord  subsists  between  the  cabinets  of 
France  and  England,'  that  '  no  steps  will  be  taken 
without  the  concurrence  of  France ; '  and  now  the 
'  London  Times '  asserts  that  when  the  Emperor  has 
conquered  Mexico  he  will  oblige  the  Americans  to 
make  peace !  A  threat  ominous  of  evil  to  England, 
who  thus  lets  '"I  dare  not"  wait  upon  "I  would,"' 
and  relies  upon  France  for  what  is  beyond  her  own 
power,  though  within  her  desires." 

—  This  secluded  old  lady  was  always  observant  of 
politics,  and  her  opinions  are  often  both  shrewd  and 
profound,  and  are  expressed  in  a  very  entertaining 
manner. 

While  Una  was  at  Beverly,  her  mother  wrote  to 
her  as  follows  :  — 

CONCORD,  Dec.  11,  1862. 

MY  DEAREST  UNA, — Great  events  seem  thickening 
here.  Louisa  Alcott  has  had  her  summons  to  the 
Washington  Hospitals;  and  Abby  came  to  ask  me 


326  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

about  some  indelible  ink  she  had,  and  I  offered  to  do 
anything  I  could  for  Louisa.  She  said  if  I  could  mark 
her  clothes  it  would  assist  very  much.  So  I  went 
over,  in  the  divine  afternoon,  and  marked  till  dusk, 
and  finished  all  she  had.  Mrs.  Alcott  says  she  shall 
feel  helpless  without  Louisa,  and  Mr.  Alcott  says  he 
sends  his  only  son.  Louisa  is  determined  to  make 
the  soldiers  jolly,  and  takes  all  of  Dickens  that  she 
has,  and  games.  At  supper-time  Julian  came  in 
with  the  portentous  news  that  the  battle  has  at 
last  begun,  and  Fredericksburg  is  on  fire  from  our 
guns.  So  Louisa  goes  into  the  very  mouth  of  the 
war.  Now,  to-day,  is  the  Bible  Fair.  I  carried  to 
Mrs.  Alcott  early  this  morning  some  maizena  blanc 
mange  which  Ann  made  for  papa,  and  turned  out  of 
the  sheaf-mould  very  nicely.  A  letter  has  been  re 
ceived  from  Sergeant-Major  How,  who  reported  dirty, 
ill-ordered  barracks,  drunken  hotels,  and  general  dis 
comfort.  He  is  at  Long  Island,  and  may  stay  five  or 
six  weeks  there. 

Papa  has  not  a  good  appetite,  and  eats  no  dinners 
except  a  little  potato.  But  he  is  tryiug  to  write,  and 
locks  himself  into  the  library  and  pulls  down  the 
blinds. 

General  Hitchcock  has  sent  me  a  catalogue  of  his 
Hermetic  Library.  Good-night. 

Your  most  affectionate  MAMMA. 

—  The  visit  to  Beverly  was  of  decided  benefit  to 
Una,  and  after  her  return  home  her  aunt  wrote  her 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  327 

frequent   letters,  full   of  sense   and  dry  humor.     I 
append  a  few  extracts  :  — 

"...  Concord  seems  a  good  place  for  you,  but  it 
must  be  dull  for  your  father,  who,  as  far  as  I  could 
observe,  has  no  society  at  all  out  of  his  own  family. 
But  there  is  pleasure  now  in  reading  the  newspapers. 
I  heard  a  man  say  yesterday  that  our  people  are 
doing  'a  handsome  piece  of  business.'  It  is  said  that 
every  eighth  man  in  Marblehead  is  in  either  the 
army  or  the  navy.  And  I  have  heard  that  it  was 
the  Salem  Zouaves  who  charged  upon  the  redoubt 
able  Obadiah  Jennings  Wise  and  his  followers,  and 
put  them  to  flight.  I  suppose  Mrs.  Dike  will  send 
me  the  Salem  papers  containing  the  achievements  of 
the  regiment  from  Essex  County,  and  I  mean  to  send 
them  to  your  papa. 

"  I  am  glad  you  were  all  well  when  you  wrote, 
'including  the  cats,'  whom  I  always  like  to  hear  from. 
Palmetto,  the  Secessionist,  has  become  an  exemplary 
Union  animal.  She  is  as  fierce  as  ever,  and  scratches 
me  to  show  how  she  would  treat  any  rebel  she  could 
get  at.  I  only  wish  we  had  an  army  actuated  by  her 
spirit.  ...  I  congratulate  you  upon  the  pleasure  you 
must  have  felt  in  hearing  your  papa  read  Scott's  nov 
els.  I  have  read  the  '  Gray  Champion '  lately  with 
renewed  delight.  I  wish  he  would  write  something 
in  the  same  spirit  now,  for  the  '  Atlantic  Monthly.' 
It  is  certainly  time  for  the  'Gray  Champion'  to  walk 
once  more.  Ask  him  to  think  of  it.  I  am  glad 
Julian  is  no  older  than  he  is,  otherwise  I  should 


328  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

expect  to  hear  he  was  gone  to  the  wars.  I  am  very 
sorry  that  your  papa  has  not  been  well.  I  wish  you 
were  not  settled  at  Concord.  The  air  of  the  place  is 
not  invigorating.  People  born  near  the  sea  require 
its  breezes.  .  .  . 

"  There  is  a  Secession  lady  here,  who  has  two 
daughters  married  to  South  Carolina  planters.  She 
knows  Mr.  Yancey  and  other  leading  men,  and  ad 
mires  Yancey  excessively.  I  am  quite  in  luck,  for  I 
have  longed  to  see  a  Secessionist.  .  .  . 

"  I  agree  with  your  mamma  as  to  who  upholds  the 
'  Atlantic/  which  was  certainly  dull  before  your  papa 
contributed  to  it,  and  I  wish  he  would  publish  some 
thing  more  from  his  English  journal.  Is  he  aware 
that  he  has  'earned  the  undying  enmity  of  all  Eng 
lishmen,  by  his  remarks  upon  Englishwomen '  ?  I 
never  doubted  that  the  English  were  as  sensitive  as 
other  people,  if  you  could  only  hit  them  in  the  right 
place.  But  it  may  be  some  compensation  to  know 
that  the  Emperor  of  Brazil  is  a  warm  admirer  of  both 
his  writings  and  his  photograph,  —  having  been  made 
acquainted  with  both  by  some  Baptist  minister,  and 
singling  out  your  papa's  likeness,  of  his  own  accord, 
from  a  book  full  of  portraits  of  eminent  men.  I  wish 
your  papa  would  read,  or  at  least  look  at,  Napier's 
'  History  of  the  Peninsular  War.'  I  have  read  it  with 
much  satisfaction,  finding  that  other  nations  blunder, 
when  they  are  in  difficulties,  as  badly  as  we  do  ;  and 
that  the  British  Government  (according  to  Napier) 
did  nothing  but  blunder.  Do  not  forget  to  speak 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  329 

about  the  '  Gray  Champion/  I  should  like  to  know 
whether  it  seems  so  wonderful  a  thing  to  you  as  it 
does  to  me.  It  should  be  read  at  war-meetings. 
Men  would  enlist  after  hearing  it.  It  would  be  well 
to  have  it  printed  in  the  form  of  a  tract,  and  dis 
tributed  to  the  soldiers.  I  know  of  nothing  written 
in  America  so  effective." 

—  There  was  no  improvement  in  Hawthorne's  con 
dition  during  the  spring  and  summer  of  1863.  He 
seemed  to  have  no  definite  disease,  but  he  grew 
thinner,  paler,  and  more  languid  day  by  day ;  he  sat 
indoors  most  of  the  time,  or,  when  he  went  out,  would 
walk  slowly  and  feebly,  or  stand  gazing  across  the 
fields,  with  his  hands  in  the  side-pockets  of  his  coat,  — 
a  wistful,  grave  look.  Early  in-  the  summer  he  had 
an  attack  of  nose-bleeding,  which  lasted  without  in 
termission  for  more  than  twenty-four  hours ;  and 
though  he  joked  about  it,  and  took  it  lightly,  he  was 
distinctly  feebler  from  that  time,  and  his  death  oc 
curred  within  the  twelvemonth.  He  no  longer,  in 
deed,  seemed  to  find  any  sufficient  interest  in  life ; 
and  he  had  always  dreaded  surviving  his  own  ability 
to  take  care  of  himself,  and  thus  becoming  (as  he 
supposed)  a  burden  upon  others.  The  breaking-down 
of  his  romance  was  another  weight  upon  his  shoul 
ders.  It  was  at  this  period,  I  think,  that  his  friend 
Bichard  Henry  Stoddard  sent  him  a  poem, "  The  King's 
Bell,"  embodying  a  profound  and  sombre  moral.  Haw 
thorne,  in  acknowledging  the  receipt  of  the  poem, 
gives  a  glimpse  of  his  state  of  mind.  "  I  sincerely 


330  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

thank  you  for  your  beautiful  poem,"  he  says,  "  which 
I  have  read  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure.  It  is  such 
as  the  public  have  a  right  to  expect,  from  what  you 
have  given  us  in  years  gone  by ;  only  I  wish  the  idea 
had  not  been  so  sad.  I  think  Felix  might  have  rung 
the  bell  once  in  his  lifetime,  and  once  again  at  the 
moment  of  death.  Yet  you  may  be  right.  I  have 
been  a  happy  man,  and  yet  I  do  not  remember  any 
one  moment  of  such  happy  conspiring  circumstances 
that  I  could  have  rung  a  joy-bell  at  it." '  Hawthorne 
had  a  high  regard  for  Stoddard,  both  as  an  author 
and  as  a  man,  and  would  have  been  glad  had  cir 
cumstances  enabled  him  to  see  and  know  more  of 
him. 

Hawthorne's  son  was  to  undergo  the  autumn  ex 
aminations  for  admission  to  the  class  of  '67  this  year; 
and  his  father  felt  more  interest  in  the  matter  than 
he,  at  the  time,  permitted  to  appear.  He  was  not 
ambitious  of  high  rank  in  scholarship  for  the  boy,  — 
and  this  was  well,  for  the  boy  was  never  out  of  arm's 
reach  of  the  bottom  of  the  class,  —  but  he  ascribed 
great  importance  to  the  general  and  incidental  in 
struction  that  college  life  brings,  and  to  its  social 
aspects.  When  Julian  left  home  to  meet  his  trial 
at  Cambridge,  his  father  shook  hands  with  him,  and 
said,  smiling,  "  Mind  you  get  in ;  but  I  don't  expect 
you  will ! "  The  saving  clause  was,  of  course,  to 
soften  my  own  mortification  in  the  event  of  failure. 
Happily,  I  succeeded  after  a  fashion ;  but  only  after 
wards  learned  that  he  would  have  been  much  cast 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  331 

down  had  my  fate  been  different.  I  remember  the 
happy  expression  with  which  he  greeted  the  new- 
fledged  collegian's  return  home. 

In  September  Hawthorne  made  a  short  visit  to 
the  seaside  with  Una ;  and  I  find  a  letter  to  the  lat 
ter  from  her  mother :  — 

SEPTEMBER  10,  1863. 

MY  DARLING  UNA,  — .  .  .  I  hoped  to  hear  about 
papa's  visit  to  Eockport,  and  "  all  sorts,"  as  dear  Mrs. 
Browning  used  to  say.  But  I  know  it  is  very  diffi 
cult  to  write  when  a  guest.  When  I  was  writing  in 
that  gay  sort  of  way,  yesterday,  I  was  very  ill  myself, 
and  determined  you  should  not  know  it.  I  had  a 
most  terrific  cold,  and  coughed  my  very  worst,  so  that 
I  thought  all  my  blood-vessels  would  literally  burst. 
I  was  really  alarmed.  I  even  coughed  all  night, 
which  generally  I  do  not.  Oh,  I  was  so  thankful  that 
papa  could  not  hear  me !  I  was  all  praise  just  for 
that.  When  Eose  had  gone  to  school,  I  coughed 
in  real  peace,  because  nobody  was  hurt.  Yesterday 
morning  I  lamented  over  the  rain  for  you,  but  by 
driving-time  it  was  all  clear  and  lovely,  much  to  my 
joy.  Last  evening  Aunt  E.  P.  P.  and  Miss  Eliza 
Clapp  came.  You  know  that  I  like  Miss  Clapp  very 
much  indeed,  and  I  was  therefore  glad  to  see  her. 
Aunt  Lizzie  looked  infinitely  delightful,  just  like  a 
mighty  Peace  and  Union.  Eose  looked  angelic  in 
white  muslin,  with  low  neck  and  short  sleeves,  and 
blue  sash,  and  blue  bows  on  her  shoulders.  She  had 
a  sort  of  pearl-and-rose  look  that  was  exquisite.  Miss 


HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

Clapp  talked  very  enchantiugly,  and  I  consider  her  a 
rare  and  remarkable  person.  .  .  . 

—  During  the  winter  Hawthorne's  state  became, 
for  the  first  time,  somewhat  alarming.  A  chief  diffi 
culty  about  him  was,  that  he  was  extremely  reluctant 
to  be  thought  ill,  arid  to  receive  the  care  which  illness 
requires.  He  wished  to  do  everything  for  himself. 
Mrs.  Hawthorne,  of  course,  was  his  nurse,  and  her 
tact  and  discretion  achieved  what  nothing  else  could 
have  accomplished  ;  she  contrived,  too,  to  maintain 
her  cheerfulness  in  his  presence,  but  her  heart  was 
full.  In  her  letters  to  her  daughter,  also,  she  assumes 
a  hopeful  tone,  in  order  that  Una  might  not  be  de 
prived  of  the  pleasure  of  her  holidays  by  home  anxie 
ties  ;  but  the  anguish  cannot  be  entirely  hidden.  I 
will  close  the  present  chapter  with  two  extracts  re 
ferring  to  this  period  :  — 

CONCORD,  Dec.  17,  1863. 

MY  DEAREST  UNA,  —  I  have  a  moment  to  write 
before  Rose  goes  to  the  mail.  Papa  grew  better 
towards  last  evening,  so  that  he  read  in  one  of  his 
huge  books  of  the  English  State  Trials.  He  had  been 
lying  down  on  the  couch  and  sitting  np  alternately 
all  day ;  and  at  noon  he  wrapped  up  and  walked  out 
for  ten  minutes.  He  slept  quietly  all  night,  and 
went  up  to  bathe  feeling  quite  well.  When  he  came 
down,  after  a  long  time,  he  looked  very  ill,  and  said 
he  had  felt  very  sick  in  the  too  hot  room ;  and,  as  far 
as  I  could  understand,  he  had  been  faint.  He  is 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END.  333 

better  now,  and  asleep  on  the  couch.  Rose  is  admira 
ble.  .  .  .  My  darling,  I  meant  to  write  you  a  long  let 
ter,  but  no  time  is  left.  I  love  you  with  an  infinite 
love.  Enjoy  yourself  heartily ;  we  are  doing  well  here. 
Your  most  loving  MAMMA. 

I  am  perfectly  well. 

DECEMBER  19. 

DEAREST  UNA, —  Papa  is  comfortable  to-day,  but 
very  thin  and  pale  and  weak.  I  give  him  oysters 
now.  Hitherto  he  has  had  only  toasted  crackers  and 
lamb  and  beef  tea.  I  am  very  impatient  that  he 
should  see  Dr.  Yandersende,  but  he  wants  to  go  to 
him  himself,  and  he  cannot  go  till  it  be  good  weather. 
How  forever  I  shall  bless  the  old  German  doctor  if 
he  can  give  papa  again  the  zest  of  life  he  used  to 
have  !  It  is  long  since  he  had  it,  —  four  or  five 
years,  I  think.  I  am  amazed  that  such  a  fortress 
as  his  digestion  should  give  way.  But  his  brain  has 
been  battering  it  for  a  long  time,  —  his  brain  and  his 
heart.  The  splendor  and  pride  of  strength  in  him 
have  succumbed  ;  but  they  can  be  restored,  I  am  sure. 
Meantime  he  is  very  nervous  and  delicate ;  he  can 
not  bear  anything,  and  he  must  be  handled  like  the 
airiest  Venetian  glass.  .  .  .  The  earth  is  gorgeous 
now  with  diamonds.  Every  twig  and  blade  are  in- 
crusted  with  crystal,  and  the  sun  makes  a  glory  that 
must  be  seen  to  be  known.  But  our  trees  are  sadly 
broken  by  such  a  weight  of  icy  splendor.  I  love  you 
with  a  mighty  love,  my  darling. 

Your  own  MAMMA. 


334  H A  WTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 


CHAPTEE   X. 

CONCLUSION. 

IT  is  not  probable  that  Hawthorne  deceived  him 
self  as  to  the  gravity  of  his  condition ;  and  when 
the  New  Year  of  1864  came,  he  must  have  felt  that 
it  was  his  last  year  in  this  world.  He  did  not,  how 
ever,  give  way  to  despair,  or  even  to  dejection.  On 
the  contrary,  there  was  a  more  than  usual  cheerful 
ness  in  his  manner.  The  vein  of  arch  playfulness, 
never  long  out  of  sight  in  him,  appeared  now  wdth 
a  touching  and  beautiful  quality  superadded ;  he 
seemed  to  admit  his  feebleness  and  physical  decay, 
and  to  make  a  gentle  sport  of  it.  He  bowed  to  the 
inevitable,  not  with  a  groan  but  with  a  smile.  His 
face  was  pale  and  wasted,  so  that  his  great  eyes,  with 
their  dark  overhanging  brows,  looked  like  caverns 
with  a  gleam  of  blue  in  them ;  his  figure  had  become 
much  attenuated,  and  his  once  firm  and  strong  stride 
was  slow  and  uncertain.  But  his  mind  was  awake, 
composed,  and  clear  ;  and  whenever  he  spoke,  —  in  a 
voice  that  had  now  become  very  low,  —  it  was  to 
utter  some  pleasant  and  gracious  thing.  He  professed 
to  take  a  hopeful  view  of  everything,  and  perhaps 
succeeded  in  concealing  the  extent  of  his  illness  from 


CONCLUSION.  335 

every  one  except  his  wife.  I  remember  reading  to 
him,  some  time  during  this  winter,  a  passage  from 
Longfellow's  "  Evangeline,"  —  where  she,  after  long 
wandering,  at  last  finds  her  lover  on  his  death-hed, 
and  holds  him  in  her  arms  while  his  spirit  passes. 
My  father  listened  silently  and  intently ;  and,  as  I 
read  the  last  verses,  a  feeling  came  upon  me  that 
there  was  something  in  the  occasion  more  memorable 
than  I  had  thought  of,  so  that  I  could  hardly  con 
clude  without  a  faltering  of  the  voice.  That  was  my 
fore-glimpse  of  the  truth  ;  but  afterwards  I  persuaded 
myself  that  he  must,  after  all,  be  well  again. 

In  January,  1864,  Una  wrote  to  Hawthorne's  sister 
that  he  seemed  very  unwell,  and  received  the  follow 
ing  in  reply  :  — 

MY  DEAR  UNA,  —  I  was  very  glad  to  see  your 
handwriting  again';  I  was  beginning  to  be  a  little 
anxious,  because  you  said  that  your  papa  was  not 
particularly  well ;  and  now,  in  your  last  letter,  you 
say  that  General  Pierce  had  heard  of  it,  and  came 
to  see  for  himself.  I  want  to  know  as  much  as  Gen 
eral  Pierce  does,  and  you  must  tell  me  if  he  is  seri 
ously  indisposed.  But  I  infer  that  it  is  no  more  than 
a  cold,  and  perhaps  the  influence  of  the  weather, 
which  has  been  unusually  gloomy  this  winter.  And 
there  is  no  society  in  Concord  that  suits  him.  I 
enjoy  winter  more  now  than  when  young,  because 
I  never  could  imagine  the  pleasure  of  skating,  and 
sliding  down  hill,  and  amusing  myself  in  the  way 


336  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

other  children  did ;  and  all  I  want  is  to  sit  quietly 
and  read.  Tf  I  am  disposed  to  talk,  it  must  be  to 
myself,  —  to  whom  I  do  sometimes  talk  ;  indeed, 
it  has  become  so  much  a  habit  with  me,  that  when 
I  go  to  meeting,  in  Salem,  I  am  afraid  to  forget  for 
an  instant  where  I  am,  lest  I  should  speak  out  loud. 
Think  how  terrible  it  would  be  if  I  did.  So  you  see 
I  am  deprived  of  the  benefit  of  my  own  meditations, 
and  even  of  my  own  being,  in  such  a  situation.  For 
tunately  it  does  not  often  happen  that  I  am  obliged 
so  to  stultify  myself.  My  last  visit  to  Salem  was  not 
very  long.  I  came  home  Christmas  day,  bringing 
a  cold  with  me,  imbibed  in  that  close  atmosphere. 
I  have  been  reading  Bayard  Taylor's  "  Hannah  Thurs- 
ton,"  and  could  not  help  saying,  "  Friend,  how  earnest 
thou  in  hither,  not  having  on  a  wedding  garment  ?  " 
The  characters  are  people  gathered  from  the  highways 
and  hedges  of  the  outer  world,  but  in  no  way  fit  for 
fiction  ;  indeed,  there  is  no  atmosphere  of  fiction  in 
the  book,  which  is  as  dreary  as  actual  life. 

E.  M.  H. 

—  In  March  it  was  decided  that  Hawthorne  should 
make  another  journey  southward  with  his  faithful 
friend  and  publisher,  W.  D.  Ticknor.  The  limits  of 
the  trip  were  not  defined ;  they  were  to  move  or  to 
pause,  as  the  humor  and  occasion  suited.  Miss 
Hawthorne  was  apprised  of  this  plan,  and  wrote  in 
reply :  — 

"...  I  feel  very  badly  about  your  father  being 


CONCLUSION.  337 

unwell,  especially  because  his  health  has  been  so 
uniformly  good.  I  am  afraid  I  am  hard-hearted 
towards  confirmed  invalids,  but  for  a  well  person  to 
become  ill  is  a  pity.  I  wish  he  could  be  prevailed 
upon  to  wear  more  clothes,  an  abundance  of  which 
are  necessary  to  comfort  in  this  climate.  We  hardly 
feel  the  changes  if  we  are  dressed  warmly ;  but  cold 
benumbs  all  the  vital  powers,  and  the  stomach  espe 
cially  suffers.  But  perhaps  he  has  not  eaten  animal 
food  enough  ;  he  ate  none  when  I  was  in  Concord. 
You  know  the  stomach  needs  to  be  exercised,  else 
it  will  lose  its  vigor.  I  think  people  should  habitu 
ally  eat  a  good  deal,  and  that  a  variety  of  food  is 
good.  He  never  had  a  great  appetite,  and  perhaps 
now  it  needs  to  be  tempted  with  delicacies.  He 
ought  to  eat  fruit,  which  is  always  wholesome.  I  am 
glad  he  is  going  away  for  a  little  while.  When  he 
went  with  Mr.  Ticknor  to  Washington  a  year  or  two 
ago,  I  believe  he  enjoyed  his  journey  and  was  bene 
fited  by  it;  and  not  only  he,  but  the  public,  for 
then  he  wrote  the  best  article  that  has  ever  appeared 
in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  —  '  Chiefly  about  War 
Matters.'  It  is  amusing  to  see  how  little  time  seems 
to  mollify  the  wrath  of  the  English,  who  continue 
to  quote  his  description  of  the  fat  dowager,  and  would 
make  a  war  matter  of  that,  I  think,  if  they  dared. 
I  have  read  '  The  Marble  Faun '  again,  lately,  with 
even  more  interest  than  at  first.  ..." 

—  On  the  27th  or  28th  of  March  Hawthorne  went  to 
Boston,  and  while  there  saw  Dr.  0.  W.  Holmes,  who 

TOL.  II.  22 


338  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

was  to  endeavor,  without  Hawthorne's  suspecting  it, 
to  get  an  idea  of  his  condition.  His  opinion,  as  re 
ported  afterwards,  was  unfavorable.  He  was  startled 
at  the  change  in  Hawthorne's  appearance,  who  seemed 
to  him  to  be  suffering  from  a  gradual  wasting  or  con 
sumption  of  the  bodily  organs.  There  was  not  much 
to  be  hoped  from  the  pharmacopoeia ;  a  journey,  with 
change  of  scene,  and  a  succession  of  minor  incidents, 
sufficient  to  keep  the  spirits  awake,  was  about  as  good 
a  prescription  as  could  be  made.  And  it  was  not 
thought  at  this  time  that  all  hope  need  be  abandoned. 
Hawthorne  was  a  man  so  peculiarly  constituted  —  his 
mind  and  his  body  were  so  finely  interwoven,  as  it 
were  —  as  almost  to  make  it  seem  that  he  might  live 
if  he  would  firmly  resolve  to  do  so.  But  it  is  charac 
teristic  of  a  high  organization  not  to  cling  strongly  to 
life," — at  any  rate,  to  life  under  mortal  conditions.  The 
spirit  uses  the  body,  and  uses  it  thoroughly,  but  never 
comes  to  look  upon  it  as  other  than  a  hindrance  to  the 
full  realization  of  its  aims.  Hawthorne  could  not 
"  resolve  to  live  "  in  this  world,  because  he  inevitably 
desired,  and  felt  the  need  of,  the  greater  scope  and 
freedom  of  a  life  emancipated  from  material  conditions. 
Nevertheless,  for  the  sake  of  those  he  loved,  and  who 
loved  him,  he  was  willing  to  co-operate  in  whatever 
measures  they  saw  fit  to  adopt  for  the  improvement  of 
his  condition.  He  would  have  preferred,  perhaps,  to 
await  the  end  quietly  ;  but  he  would  not  let  his  friends 
have  the  pain  of  supposing,  after  he  was  dead,  that  any 
thing  had  been  left  undone  that  they  could  do.  So  he 


CONCLUSION.  339 

started  on  his  journey  with  Ticknor,  determined  that 
it  should  not  be  his  fault  if  it  did  not  do  him  all  the 
good  that  was  anticipated  from  it.  Mr.  Ticknor  was 
an  admirable  companion  for  such  an  emergency, — 
active,  cheerful,  careful  and  sagacious,  and  full  of 
affectionate  regard  for  his  charge.  Whatever  a  man 
can  do  for  his  friend,  he  was  ready  and  eager  to  do  for 
Hawthorne. 

They  left  Boston  on  the  evening  of  the  28th,  and 
arrived  the  next  morning  in  "New  York.  They  put 
up  at  the  Astor  House,  and  remained  there  nearly  a 
week,  being  imprisoned  most  of  the  time  by  rainy  and 
inclement  weather.  Ticknor  wrote  repeatedly  to  Mrs. 
Hawthorne,  describing  Hawthorne's  condition  from 
day  to  day,  and  noting  a  slight  but  steady  improve 
ment.  I  subjoin  these  bulletins,  the  last  of  which 
was  dated  at  Philadelphia,  —  the  limit  which  destiny 
put  to  their  travels  together. 

ASTOR  HOUSE,  NEW  YORK,  March  30,  1864. 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  HAWTHORNE,  —  I  regret  that  I  am 
too  late  for  the  afternoon  mail,  but  that  can't  be  helped 
now.  A  worse  than  a  northeaster  has  prevailed  here 
to-day.  I  have  hardly  been  out  of  the  house ;  Mr. 
Hawthorne  not  at  all.  But  we  have  been  very  com 
fortable  within.  He  needed  the  rest,  and  the  storm 
seemed  to  say  that  both  he  and  I  must  be  content,  and 
we  have  not  complained.  I  do  not  think  that  Mr. 
Hawthorne  suffered  any  inconvenience  from  the  jour 
ney,  but,  on  the  contrary,  I  think  he  is  better  to-day 


340  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

than  when  we  started.  He  is  looking  better,  and  says 
he  feels  very  well.  It  will  take  a  few  days  to  see 
what  effect  this  change  will  have  upon  him ;  but  I 
can't  but  hope  that  it  will  prove  the  right  medicine. 
I  shall  remain  here  two  or  three  days,  and  perhaps 
more.  The  storm  has  prevented  my  doing  what  I 
intended  to-day,  and  of  course  I  cannot  at  once  decide 
what  shall  be  best  to  do.  I  can  only  say  that  I  hope 
the  trip  may  accomplish  what  we  all  desire ;  and  I 
have  great  faith.  I  will  keep  you  advised. 

Sincerely  yours,  W.  D.  TICKNOR. 

MARCH  31,  1864. 

DEAR  MRS.  HAWTHORNE,  —  The  storm  of  yesterday 
continues,  but  not  as  violent.  Mr.  Hawthorne  is  im 
proving,  I  trust.  The  weather  makes  everything  very 
gloomy ;  notwithstanding,  we  took  a  short  walk  this 
morning.  I  hope  the  sun  will  appear  to-morrow,  so 
that  we  may  see  something  of  New  York.  Mr.  Haw 
thorne  left  me,  saying  that  he  proposed  to  sleep  an 
hour  before  dinner.  He  seems  afraid  that  he  shall  eat 
too  much,  as  he  says  his  appetite  is  good.  I  assure 
him  he  is  very  prudent,  and  there  is  no  fear  of  his 
eating  too  much.  He  slept  well  last  night,  and  is 
evidently  gaining  strength.  But  it  will  take  time 
to  restore  him. 

Truly  yours,  W.  D.  T. 

P.  S.  Mr.  Hawthorne  said  this  morning  that  he 
thought  he  must  write  home  to-day  ;  but  I  hardly 
think  he  will  do  so. 


CONCLUSION.  341 

ASTOR  HOUSE,  NEW  YORK,  April  3,  1864. 
12  o'clock,  noon. 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  HAWTHORNE,  —  Your  letter  has 
just  arrived.  The  mail  was  very  late.  I  handed  it  to 
our  "  King,"  and  he  read  it  with  interest  and  delight, 
and  is  now  writing  an  answer.  I  assure  you  he  is 
much  improved,  but  he  is  yet  very  weak.  The 
weather  has  been  as  bad  as  possible,  and  of  course 
we  have  not  been  out  much.  I  intended  to  have  left 
New  York  yesterday,  but  I  thought  it  not  best  to 
leave  in  a  driving  storm.  We  took  quite  a  long  walk 
this  morning,  and  Mr.  Hawthorne  does  not  seem 
fatigued.  I  cannot  now  say  where  we  go  next,  as  I 
shall  be  governed  by  what  shall  seem  best  for  him. 
We  shall  float  along  for  a  while.  Probably  to  Phila 
delphia  to-morrow.  I  will  keep  you  posted,  though 
at  this  time  I  do  not  feel  like  laying  out  any  definite 
plan.  I  shall  be  much  disappointed  if  our  friend  does 
not  return  in  much  better  health  than  when  he  left 
Boston.  We  have  been  very  quiet  here,  and  this,  I 
am  satisfied,  was  the  right  thing  at  first.  He  slept 
well  last  night.  I  write  this  short  note  now,  as  you 
will  have  from  him  his  own  account. 

Sincerely  and  truly  yours, 

W.  D.  TICKNOR. 

ASTOR  HOUSE,  NEW  YORK,  April  4, 1864.    7  A.  M. 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  HAWTHORNE,  —  I  wrote  you  a  short 
note  yesterday  upon  the  receipt  of  your  letter.  I  have 
not  much  to  add.  The  fact  that  we  have  a  bright  sun 


342  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

to  greet  us  this  morning  is  most  cheering.  Yesterday 
afternoon  we  went  to  Central  Park,  in  spite  of  the 
weather.  Mr.  Hawthorne  seemed  to  enjoy  the  drive, 
and  was  not  much  fatigued  on  our  return.  We  had 
a  good  cheerful  evening  in  his  room.  He  retired  as 
usual  at  nine,  and  I  hope  to  find  him  bright  this 
morning.  He  is  gaining  strength,  but  very  slowly. 
I  think  we  may  go  to  Philadelphia  to-day,  but  am  not 
certain.  We  couldn't  have  had  more  unpleasant 
weather;  but  I  tell  him  we  will  make  it  up  by 
staying  so  much  longer.  Hearing  from  home  did 
him  much  good.  He  reads  the  papers,  moderately 
to  be  sure,  but  at  first  he  declined  entirely.  His 
appetite  is  very  good,  but  he  eats  very  moderately. 
Perhaps  it  is  as  well,  at  present. 

Sincerely  yours, 

W.   D.   TlCKNOR. 
PHILADELPHIA,  April  7,  1864. 

DEAR  MRS.  HAWTHORNE,  —  You  will  be  glad  to 
hear  that  our  patient  continues  to  improve.  He  wrote 
to  you  yesterday.  He  reads  the  papers,  and  sleeps  well. 
The  first  real  sunshine  since  we  left  Boston  came  upon 
us  yesterday.  On  Tuesday  it  rained  and  blew  furi 
ously.  Mr.  Hawthorne  did  not  go  out ;  I  only  for  an 
hour — by  his  permission;  but  was  glad  to  return  and 
keep  within  doors.  It  was  too  blue  a  day  even  to 
write.  I  hardly  know  how  we  got  through  the  day. 
The  bright  sun  of  yesterday  was  a  relief.  We  im 
proved  it.  Made  calls  on  some  of  the  publishers, 


CONCLUSION.  343 

then  on  Mr.  John  Grigg,  a  retired  rich  bookseller. 
After  dinner  a  gentleman  called  and  invited  us  to 
drive.  We  had  a  pleasant  drive  to  Fairmount,  Girard 
College,  etc.  Mr.  Hawthorne  seemed  somewhat  fa 
tigued.  Retired  before  nine.  This  morning  he  is 
bright,  and  said  at  breakfast  he  was  feeling  much 
better.  Now,  I  don't  know  exactly  what  next,  but,  if 
he  is  inclined,  I  shall  go  to  Baltimore.  But  it  is  not 
best  to  lay  out  a  business  plan,  or  feel  that  so  much 
must  be  done  in  a  given  time;  I  tell  him  we  will 
float  along  and  see  what  "  turns  up."  One  thing  is 
certain,  it  has  been  altogether  too  stormy  to  try  the 
sea. 

Sincerely  and  truly  yours, 

W.  D.  TICKNOR. 

—  Matters  were  looking  thus  far  favorable,  when, 
without  warning,  the  fair  prospect  was  made  dark  by 
Ticknor's  sudden  death.  Such  a  calamity  would  have 
been  a  poignant  shock  to  Hawthorne  at  the  best  of 
times,  but  it  smote  the  very  roots  of  his  life  now. 
From  the  patient,  assisted  and  guided  in  every  move 
ment,  he  was  all  at  once  compelled  to  become  respon 
sible  and  executive ;  to  make  and  to  carry  out  all 
arrangements,  and  this  among  strangers,  and  when 
weighed  down  not  only  by  physical  weakness,  but  by 
heavy  grief  for  the  loss  of  his  friend.  A  more  un 
toward  event  —  one  more  fatal  in  its  consequences 
upon  him  —  could  scarcely  have  occurred.  He  found 
strength  to  perform  the  duties  that  had  devolved 


344  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

upon  him,  but  it  was  the  last  strength  he  had.  He 
telegraphed  home  the  news,  had  the  body  prepared 
for  transportation,  and  after  its  departure  in  charge 
of  'a  son  of  Mr.  Ticknor,  who  had  come  on  for  the 
purpose,  he  returned  to  Boston,  —  a  melancholy  and 
grievous  journey.  When,  at  last,  he  reached  home, 
his  wife  was  appalled  at  his  aspect.  He  showed 
the  traces  of  terrible  agitation ;  his  bodily  substance 
seemed  to  have  evaporated.  He  appeared  to  feel 
that  there  had  been  a  ghastly  mistake,  —  that  he, 
and  not  Ticknor,  should  have  died.  There  was  pain 
in  his  glance,  and  heart-breaking  recollections.  He 
brooded  over  what  had  passed,  and  could  not  rouse 
himself.  The  image  of  deatli  that  he  had  witnessed 
would  not  be  banished. 

After  Ticknor's  funeral  it  speedily  became  evident 
that  Hawthorne  must  not  remain  in  Concord,  or  he 
would  sink  into  the  grave  at  once.  Nothing,  indeed, 
could  have  saved  him  now ;  but  we  could  only  feel 
that  nothing  must  be  left  untried.  Pierce  immedi 
ately  arranged  with  him  for  an  excursion  through 
Northern  New  England.  No  man  was  better  fitted 
than  Pierce  to  be  of  use  to  him.  Of  widely  different 
natures,  and  of  not  less  divergent  tastes,  pursuits,  and 
experience,  these  two  men  had  been  life-long  friends. 
They  loved,  understood,  and  believed  in  each  other. 
They  could  afford  each  other,  in  the  fullest  sense, 
companionship ;  they  could  converse  without  words. 
The  quiet,  masculine  charm  of  Pierce's  manner,  his 
knowledge  of  men  and  the  world,  his  strength,  and 


CONCLUSION.  345 

his  tenderness  were,  moreover,  precious  qualities  in 
such  nursing  as  was  needed  now.  There  was  no  man 
with  whom  Hawthorne  would  more  willingly  have 
passed  the  last  hours  of  his  life ;  and  perhaps  it  was 
for  this  reason  that  he  consented  to  go  with  him. 
He  must  have  known  that  the  journey  was  to  be  his 
final  one,  and  that  the  farewell  to  his  wife  was  prob 
ably  the  last  farewell  of  all.  And  though  to  say 
good-by  to  the  beloved  woman  who  for  more  than 
twenty  years  had  been  nearest  and  dearest  to  him  of 
anything  in  the  world,  must  have  been  the  worst 
pang  of  death,  he  could  bear  it,  in  the  conviction  he 
felt  that  he  was  thereby  saving  her  from  the  lingering 
anguish  of  seeing  him  fade  out  of  existence  before 
her  eyes.  It  was  better  for  her  that  the  blow  should 
be  dealt  suddenly ;  that  she  should  not  know  he  was 
going,  but  only  that  he  had  gone.  He  had  always 
dreaded  the  slow  parting  scenes  that  precede  death, 
and  had  often  expressed  the  hope  that  he  might  die 
in  his  sleep,  and  unawares.  And  it  was  according  to 
his  wish  that  the  end  came  to  him. 

A  few  days  before  he  and  Pierce  set  forth,  I  came 
up  to  Concord  from  Cambridge  to  make  some  request 
of  him.  I  remained  only  an  hour,  having  to  take  the 
afternoon  train  back  to  the  college.  He  was  sitting 
in  the  bedroom  upstairs ;  my  mother  and  my  two 
sisters  were  there  also.  It  was  a  pleasant  morning  in 
early  May.  I  made  my  request  (whatever  it  was), 
and,  after  listening  to  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  whole 
matter,  he  acceded  to  it.  I  had  half  anticipated  re- 


346  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

fusal,  and  was  the  more  gratified.  I  said  good-by, 
and  went  to  the  door,  where  I  stood  a  moment,  looking 
back  into  the  room.  He  was  standing  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  leaning  against  it,  and  looking  at  me  with  a 
smile.  He  had  on  his  old  dark  coat ;  his  hair  was 
almost  wholly  white,  and  lie  was  very  pale.  But  the 
expression  of  his  face  was  full  of  beautiful  kindness, 
—  the  gladness  of  having  given  his  son  a  pleasure, 
and  perhaps  something  more,  that  I  did  not  then 
know  of.  His  aspect  at  that  moment,  and  the  sun 
shine  in  the  little  room,  are  vivid  in  my  memory.  I 
never  saw  my  father  again. 

The  friends  started  about  the  middle  of  May,  and, 
travelling  leisurely,  reached  Plymouth,  New  Hamp 
shire,  on  the  18th  of  the  month.  There  is  a  little 
memorandum  book,  in  which  are  jotted  down,  in  a 
small  and  almost  illegible  handwriting,  a  few  words  as 
to  the  results  of  each  day's  journey  ;  but  there  is  no  en 
try  after  the  17th.  They  put  up  at  the  Pemigewasset 
House,  and  Hawthorne  went  to  bed  early.  Pierce's 
room  communicated  with  Hawthorne's  ;  the  door  was 
open  between,  and  once  or  twice  during  the  night 
Pierce  went  in  to  see  whether  his  friend  were  resting 
easily.  Hawthorne  breathed  quietly,  and  lay  in  a 
natural  position,  on  his  right  side.  Some  time  after 
midnight  Pierce,  who  had  been  disturbed  by  the  per 
sistent  howling  of  a  dog  in  the  courtyard  of  the  hotel, 
went  to  Hawthorne's  bedside  again.  He  still  lay  in 
precisely  the  same  position  as  when  he  first  fell  asleep  ; 
but  no  breathing  was  now  perceptible.  Pierce  quickly 


CONCLUSION.  347 

laid  his  hand  on  the  sleeper's  heart,  and  found  that  it 
had  stopped  beating. 

By  noon  of  that  day  the  news  of  Hawthorne's 
death  was  known  to  his  family  and  immediate  friends. 
On  the  20th  I  met  General  Pierce  in  Boston,  and 
heard  from  him  the  details  of  the  event.  In  the 
afternoon  I  took  the  train  to  Concord,  and  found  my 
mother  and  sisters  at  the  Wayside.  The  next  day 
Hawthorne's  body  arrived.  It  was  taken  to  the 
Unitarian  Church,  and  the  coffin  was  there  decorated 
with  flowers  by  Mrs.  Hawthorne  and  her  daughters. 
They  showed  that  exalted  kind  of  composure  which 
is  created  by  a  grief  too  tender  and  profound  for 
tears.  But,  indeed,  he  did  not  seem  dead ;  we  could 
only  feel  that  a  great  change  had  come  to  pass,  in  the 
depths  of  which  was  a  peace  too  sacred  to  be  invaded 
by  the  common  shows  of  mourning. 

The  funeral  took  place  on  the  23d,  and  was  con 
ducted  by  the  Rev.  James  Freeman  Clarke,  who  had 
performed  Hawthorne's  marriage  service  two-and- 
twenty  years  before.  The  church  was  filled  with  a 
great  crowd  of  people,  most  of  them  personal  stran 
gers  to  us,  though  not  to  Hawthorne's  name.  It  was 
a  mild,  sunny  afternoon,  — "  The  one  bright  day  in 
the  long  week  of  rain,"  as  Longfellow  has  said ;  and 
the  cemetery  at  Sleepy  Hollow  was  full  of  the  fra 
grance  and  freshness  of  May.  The  grave  was  dug 
at  the  top  of  the  little  hill,  beneath  a  group  of  tall 
pines,  where  Hawthorne  and  his  wife  had  often  sat 
in  days  gone  by,  and  planned  their  pleasure-house. 


348  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

When  the  rites  at  the  grave  were  over,  the  crowd 
moved  away,  and  at  last  the  carriage  containing  Mrs. 
Hawthorne  followed.  But  at  the  gates  of  the  ceme 
tery  stood,  on  either  side  of  the  path,  Longfellow, 
Holmes,  Whittier,  Lowell,  Pierce,  Emerson,  and  half 
a  dozen  more ;  and  as  the  carriage  passed  between 
them,  they  uncovered  their  honored  heads  in  honor 
of  Hawthorne's  widow. 


Miss  Hawthorne  had  written  as  follows  on  receipt 
of  the  news  of  her  brother's  death :  — 

MY  DEAR  UNA,  —  Rebecca  is  going  to  write  to  you 
to  tell  you  that  I  cannot  come.  I  do  not  think  you 
will  be  surprised.  The  shock  was  so  terrible  that  I 
am  too  ill  to  make  the  necessary  preparations.  Happy 
are  those  who  die,  and  can  be  at  rest !  When  I  look 
forward,  I  can  anticipate  nothing  but  sorrow  ;  few  peo 
ple  are  so  completely  left  alone  as  I  am,  —  all  have 
gone  before  me.  It  is  sad  to  hear,  as  we  sometimes 
do,  of  whole  families  being  swept  away  by  disease ; 
but  it  is  far  sadder  to  be  the  only  survivor.  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  much  I  feel  for  you  all.  I  suppose  you 
were  no  better  prepared  for  what  has  happened  than 
I  am.  I  have  been  anxious  all  the  week  to  hear  about 
Dr.  Holmes's  opinion,  but  I  hoped  everything  from 
travelling.  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  an  effectual 
remedy  if  poor  Mr.  Ticknor's  unfortunate  death  had 


CONCLUSION.  349 

not  occurred.  But  now  your  father  will  never  know 
old  age  and  infirmity.  I  shall  always  think  of  him 
as  I  saw  him  in  Concord,  when  he  seemed  to  be  in 
the  prime  of  manhood.  It  is  not  desirable  to  live 
to  be  old. ,  Dear  Una,  do  let  me  know,  as  soon  as  you 
feel  as  if  you  could  write,  whatever  there  is  to  tell. 
Your  aunt, 

E.  M.  HAWTHORNE. 

—  When  the  news  reached  England,  Henry  Bright 
wrote  to  Longfellow,  asking  particulars,  and  received 
this  answer.  The  "  lines  "  referred  to  are,  of  course, 
the  well-known  ones  which  Longfellow  wrote  soon 
after  the  funeral. 

NAHANT,  July  16,  1864. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  BRIGHT,  —  I  have  had  the  pleasure 
of  receiving  your  very  friendly  letter,  and  make  all 
haste  to  answer  your  affectionate  inquiries  about 
Hawthorne's  illness.  I  first  heard  of  it  in  the  winter. 
He  suddenly  withdrew  from  the  publisher  the  intro 
ductory  chapter  of  the  "  Dolliver  Eomance,"  saying 
he  was  too  unwell  to  go  on  with  it.  Later,  he  came 
to  town,  much  worn  and  wasted,  and  discouraged 
about  himself.  Soon  after  came  his  journey  to  Phila 
delphia  with  Mr.  Ticknor,  who  suddenly  died  there, 
as  you  have  read  in  the  papers,  doubtless;  and  then 
his  last  journey  with  General  Pierce  to  the  White 
Mountains,  from  which  he  came  no  more  back.  This 
you  will  find,  more  in  detail,  in  the  July  number  of 
the  "Atlantic"  magazine;  and  in  the  August  number 


350  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

some  lines  by  me  on  the  funeral,  which  I  will  send 
you  if  I  can  get  a  copy  in  season. 

Mrs.  Hawthorne  still  remains  in  Concord,  and 
people  begin  to  find  out  what  a  loss  they  have  suf 
fered.  I  am  glad  to  know  how  deeply  you  feel  this 
loss ;  for  I  know,  having  heard  it  from  his  own  lips, 
that  he  liked  you  more  than  any  man  in  England. 
He  always  spoke  of  you  with  great  warmth  of  friend 
ship.  I  like  very  much  your  remarks  in  the  "  Ex 
aminer,"  and  shall  send  them  to  Mrs.  Hawthorne. 
With  kindest  regards,  yours  truly, 

H.  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

—  Mr.  Bright  himself  wrote  to  me  within  the  past 
year : — 

"...  Your  father's  death  was  a  great  shock  to  me. 
I  had  hoped  that  our  friendship  might  continue  for 
years  to  come.  I  have  beautiful  letters  from  your 
mother  and  Una,  but  they  are  too  sacred  to  publish. 
I  need  hardly  say  with  what  a  feeling  of  affection 
I  always  regarded  your  father.  He  was  almost  the 
best  man  I  ever  knew,  —  and  quite  the  most  inter 
esting.  Nothing  annoys  me  more  than  the  word 
'  morbid '  as  applied  to  him,  —  he  was  the  least 
morbid  of  men,  with  a  singularly  sweet  temper,  and 
a  very  far-reaching  charity  ;  he  was  reserved  and  (in 
a  sense)  a  proud  man,  who  did  not  care  to  be  worried 
or  bored  by  people  he  was  not  fond  of.  But  he  was, 
I.  am  sure,  a  singularly  happy  man,  —  happy  in  all 
his  domestic  relations,  happy  iu  his  own  wonderful 


CONCLUSION.  351 

imaginative  faculty,  and  in  the  fame  which  he  had 
achieved.  He  was  full  of  a  quiet  common-sense, 
which  contrasted  strangely  with  the  weird  nature 
of  his  'genius.'  He  had  a  strong  sense  of  fun,  too, 
and  it  was  delightful  when  anything  called  out  the 
low  chuckle  of  his  laughter.  And  then  again  I 
always  felt  with  your  father  as  Lord  Carlisle  once 
said  he  felt  with  Dr.  Channing,  —  '  that  you  were 
in  a  presence  in  which  nothing  that  was  impure, 
base,  or  selfish  could  breathe  at  ease/ 

"  Justice  has  never  yet  been  done  to  your  mother. 
Of  course  she  was  overshadowed  by  him,  —  but  she 
was  a  singularly  accomplished  woman,  with  a  great 
gift  of  expression,  and  a  most  sympathetic  nature  ;  she 
was,  too,  an  artist  of  no  mean  quality.  Her  '  Notes 
in  England  and  Italy '  contain  much  that  is  valua 
ble,  and  much  that  is  beautifully  written.  Dear 
Una,  too,  you  will  no  doubt  speak  of  her.  Her 
memory  must  ever  be  very  dear  to  all  who  knew 
her. 

"  You  will  (but  you  will  know  all  this)  find  various 
allusions  to  my  friendship  with  your  father  in  vari 
ous  of  his  writings,  —  in  the  first  chapter  of  '  Our  Old 
Home,'  twice  within  the  last  pages  of  the  'French 
and  Italian  Note-Books,'  and  often  in  the  'English 
Note-Books.'  Here  there  may  be  some  confusion : 
another  Mr.  B.  (Mr.  Bennoch,  I  think),  also  a  third 
Mr.  B.  (Mr.  Barber  of  Poulton),  also  a  fourth  Mr.  B. 
(of  the  American  Chamber  of  Commerce),  are  there 
mentioned.  ,  .  ." 


352  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

—  The  present  writer  does  not  feel  disposed  to 
make  a  final  summing-up  of  his  subject's  character, 
such  as  customarily  closes  a  biography;  but  will 
append  here  a  passage  from  a  letter  of  Mrs.  Haw 
thorne,  which  contains  all  that  the  occasion  calls  for. 
It  was  written  soon  after  Hawthorne's  death. 

"...  Everything  noble,  beautiful,  and  generous  in 
his  action  Mr.  Hawthorne  hid  from  himself,  even 
more  cunningly  than  he  hid  himself  from  others. 
He  positively  never  contemplated  the  best  thing  he 
could  do  as  in  the  slightest  degree  a  personal  matter ; 
but  somehow  as  a  small  concordance  with  God's  or 
der,  —  a  matter  of  course.  It  was  almost  impossible 
to  utter  to  him  a  word  of  commendation.  He  made 
praise  show  absurd  and  out  of  place,  and  the  praiser 
a  mean  blunderer;  so  perfectly  did  everything  take 
its  true  place  before  him.  The  flame  of  his  eyes  con 
sumed  compliment,  cant,  sham,  and  falsehood,  while 
the  most  wretched  sinners  —  so  many  of  whom  came 
to  confess  to  him  —  met  in  his  glance  a  pity  and 
sympathy  so  infinite,  that  they  ceased  to  be  afraid  of 
God,  and  began  to  return  to  Him.  In  his  eyes,  as 
Tennyson  sings,  '  God  and  Nature  met  in  Light.'  So 
that  he  could  hardly  be  quarrelled  with  for  veiling 
himself  from  others,  since  he  veiled  himself  from 
himself.  His  own  soul  was  behind  the  wings  of 
the  cherubim,  —  sacred,  like  all  souls  which  have  not 
been  desecrated  by  the  world.  I  never  dared  to  gaze 
at  him,  even  I,  unless  his  lids  were  down.  It  seemed 
an  invasion  into  a  holy  place.  To  the  last,  he  was 


CONCLUSION.  353 

in  a  measure  to  me  a  divine  mystery;  for  he  was  so 
to  himself.  I  have  an  eternity,  thank  God,  in  which 
to  know  him  more  and  more,  or  I  should  die  in  de 
spair.  Even  now  I  progress  in  knowledge  of -him, 
for  he  informs  me  constantly." 

—  Hawthorne's  family  remained  at  the  Wayside 
until  the  autumn  of  1868,  when  it  was  decided  to  go 
to  Germany.  We  went  first  to  New  York,  and  after 
a  week's  stay  there,  sailed  on  a  Bremen  steamer  on  the 
20th  of  October.  We  remained  in  Dresden  until  the 
summer  of  1869,  when  I  went  back  to  America  for 
a  visit,  leaving  my  mother  and  sisters  in  Dresden, 
whither  I  purposed  to  return  again  before  winter. 
Circumstances,  however,  prevented  this;  and  soon 
after,  the  outbreak  of  the  Franco-German  war  con 
strained  Mrs.  Hawthorne  to  take  her  daughters  to 
London.  Here  they  dwelt,  amid  a  circle  of  pleasant 
friends,  for  two  years. 

Before  leaving  America  Mrs.  Hawthorne  had  suf 
fered  from  a  severe  attack  of  typhoid  pneumonia, 
whicli  came  near  proving  fatal ;  and  during  the  win 
ter  of  1870-71,  in  London,  she  had  a  return  of  the  dis 
ease,  and  this  time  she  did  not  recover.  Her  daughter 
Una,  who  tended  her  throughout,  has  left  an  account 
of  this  last  illness,  which  may  be  quoted  here :  — 

"On  Saturday,  the  llth  of  February,  Mr.  Channing 

was  to  lecture  at  the  Eoyal  Institution  rooms,  and 

mamma  and  I  agreed  to  meet  there  at  the  appointed 

time.     Tt  proved  to  be  the  last  thing  I  ever  did  with 

VOL.  ii.  23 


354  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

her.  I  arrived  first.  She  was  quite  late,  but  at  last 
I  saw  the  darling  little  black  figure  at  the  door,  her 
face  looking  very  pale  and  tired ;  but  it  lighted  up 
when  she  saw  me,  and  she  said,  'Oh,  there  you  are, 
my  darling  !  I  have  been  waiting  for  you  down 
stairs/  The  lecture  was  somewhat  of  a  disappoint 
ment  to  us,  and  the  next  day  mamma  felt  very  tired. 
But  she  had  an  invitation  to  take  tea  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Tom  Hughes,  and  looked  forward  to  it  with  so 
much  pleasure  that  she  made  an  effort  to  go.  She 
came  downstairs  looking  lovely,  as  she  always  did 
when  dressed  to  go  out,  with  delicate  black  lace  on 
her  white  hair,  and  fastened  under  her  chin,  and  a 
jet  coronet;  and  she  said,  as  always,  'Do  you  like 
my  looks  ? '  with  her  radiant,  caressing  smile.  She 
came  home  very  early,  and  could  hardly  wait  to  get 
upstairs  before  she  exclaimed,  'Whom  do  you  think 
I  have  seen  ?  whom  do  you  think  ? — Mr.  Browning ! ' 
Then  she  gave  us  a  glowing  account  of  how  delight 
edly  he  came  forward  to  meet  her;  how  he  said  he  had 
been  most  anxious  to  see  her,  and  was  only  waiting 
to  hear  we  were  settled  in  order  to  call;  and  how 
charming  her  talk  with  him  was  altogether.  He  was 
the  only  other  guest ;  and  Mrs.  Hughes  made  tea  on 
the  parlor  hob,  and  called  their  pretty  children  down  • 
for  mamma  to  see;  and  Mr.  Hughes  was  beaming, 
and  she  felt  so  glad  she  had  not  stayed  at  home. 

"  On  Monday  she  felt  very  weary  again ;  but  Mr. 
Channing  was  to  lecture  once  more,  and  she  said  she 
felt  she  ought  to  go,  because  so  few  people  went,  and 


CONCLUSION.  355 

he  must  feel  so  discouraged ;  so  she  dragged  herself 
there,  and  afterwards  to  call  on  Lady  Amberly  by  ap 
pointment.  The  next  clay,  Tuesday,  a  man  came  who 
was  to  finish  hanging  the  pictures  under  mamma's 
directions,  and  do  various  other  little  jobs ;  and  she 
wanted  to  oversee  everything  herself,  and  got  dread 
fully  tired.  As  I  was  bidding  her  good-night,  she  said, 
'  I  have  a  sort  of  defenceless  feeling,  as  if  I  had  no 
refuge.'  It  struck  a  chill  to  my  heart ;  for  they  were 
the  exact  words  she  used  the  night  before  she  was 
stricken  with  her  dreadful  illness  in  America.  She 
did  not,  and  indeed  hardly  could,  look  more  pale  and 
tired  than  she  had  often  done  during  the  last  month 
or  more ;  but  she  would  never  spare  herself,  and  was 
always  going  beyond  her  strength,  and  I  had  been 
feeling  very  anxious  about  her,  without  seeing  any 
possible  way  to  make  a  change. 

"The  next  morning  when  Louisa,  the  servant, 
brought  my  warm  water,  she  said,  '  I  think  your 
mamma  seems  very  poorly,  Miss.'  It  seems  she  had 
had  nausea  during  the  night,  and  when  I  went  down 
she  was  looking  wretchedly,  —  very  feverish,  lying 
with  closed  eyes,  and  other  symptoms  I  knew  too 
well.  I  wrote  at  once  to  the  doctor ;  but  then,  fear 
ing  the  note  would  be  delayed,  I  sent  Louisa  in  a 
cab  with  another  note,  and  the  doctor  came.  This 
was  Wednesday,  February  15,  and  during  the  follow 
ing  week  she  constantly  spit  blood.  The  nausea  was 
almost"  unabated,  and  she  had  severe  headache  and 
much  fever.  The  left  lung  was  congested  until  the 


356  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

last  three  or  four  days,  when  it  began  to  clear,  arid 
pleurisy  came  on.  The  tongue  and  lips  were  parched, 
so  that  speech  was  difficult,  and  her  words  hard  to 
catch,  and  her  breathing  was  very  short  and  hard,  and 
terribly  fatiguing ;  so  that  she  often  said, '  Oh,  if  I  could 
rest  from  this  a  little  while  ! '  I  made  my  bed  on  the 
couch  every  night,  but  there  was  little  to  do  except 
to  give  her  medicine  every  hour.  Her  continued 
sickness  made  her  loathe  food,  and  she  would  take 
only  a  little  milk  and  water.  At  first  the  doctor  was 
not  anxious  about  her ;  and  having  inquired  particu 
larly  about  her  former  illness,  and  learned  that  it 
was  worse,  he  said  he  could  feel  no  doubt  of  her 
getting  well.  But  when  her  strength  decreased  day 
by  day,  I  saw  that  his  anxiety  was  growing;  and  I, 
seeing  how  a  few  days  had  brought  mamma  where  it 
took  several  weeks  to  bring  her  before,  began  to  feel 
most  terribly  anxious  indeed.  She  was  very  unwilling 
to  yield  to  her  weakness,  and  at  first  she  would  say, 
'  Now  you  can  go  to  sleep,  dear,  and  put  the  watch 
near  me,  and  the  medicine  to  take.'  But  she  made 
no  rejoinder  when  I  would  not  consent. 

"One  day  I  had  left  Eose  with  her  for  a  little 
while,  and  when  I  came  back  was  utterly  astonished 
to  see  her  sitting  up  almost  straight ;  and  then  I  first 
realized  how  ill  she  looked.  She  said  she  wanted  to 
ease  her  head.  Of  course  she  soon  sank  back,  for 
she  would  not  let  me  hold  her,  having  a  strange  dis 
like  of  being  touched  in  this  illness.  She  wandered 
slightly,  though  she  always  answered  a  question 


CONCLUSION.  357 

clearly;  but  she  would  sometimes  think  she  was  in 
the  rush  and  noise  of  Piccadilly,  or  doing  some 
wearisome  and  difficult  thing.  At  other  times  the 
spheres  of  people  she  knew  would  seem  to  haunt 
her.  Once  she  said,  speaking  of  a  friend  of  ours  in 
Dresden,  —  Edward  Hosmer,  —  'I  think  he  was  a 
good,  true  man,  —  kind-hearted.' 

"A  letter  came  from  her  old  Boston -friend,  Mrs.  Au 
gustus  Hemmenway,  which  gave  her  much  pleasure, 
though  she  was  only  able  to  hear  from  me  the  chief 
news  in  it.  Then  one  came  from  Fanny  Cammann, 
with  a  photograph  of  herself.  Mamma  was  very  anx 
ious  to  see  the  photograph,  and  I  gave  it  to  her  with  a 
large  rnagnifying-glass,  and  she  held  them  for  a  long 
time,  opening  her  eyes  to  look  every  now  and  then. 
At  last  she  dropped  them,  and  said,  '  I  can't  see  much, 
but  it  is  very  handsome.'  Another  letter  came  from 
Annie  Bright,  enclosing  some  snowdrops,  which  I  put 
in  water  and  they  opened  out  beautifully ;  and  I  held 
them  up  to  mamma  and  told  her  about  them,  and 
she  was  much  pleased. 

"  The  least  noise  was  most  distressing  to  her,  and 
we  had  the  door-knocker  taken  off,  and  sent  away 
every  hand-organ  in  the  vicinity.  There  was  a  per 
sistent  church-bell  which  rang  a  long  time,  twice  a 
day,  and  annoyed  mamma  excessively.  I  sent  sev 
eral  times  to  ask  them  to  ring  only  a  few  minutes ; 
but  they  made  scarcely  any  change. 

"  She  liked  the  doctor,  and  his  visits  were  always  a 
pleasure  to  her.  The  only  time  she  opened  her  eyes 


358  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

with  her  own  starry  smile  was  at  one  of  his  visits  ; 
and  another  time  she  held  out  both  her  hands.  '  My 
good,  cold  doctor!'  she  called  him,  for  his  hands  were 
always  cool,  and  she  liked  to  have  him  put  them  on 
her  head.  He  had  a  soothing  influence  upon  her. 
He  was  much  touched  by  her  regard,  and  by  her 
always  inquiring  after  his  wife  and  children. 

"  The  least  start  or  emotion  was  so  liable  to  make 
her  cough,  that  I  seldom  ventured  to  talk  to  her; 
and  it  was  a  day  or  two  after  a  long  letter  from  Julian 
came,  that  I  told  her  of  it.  She  smiled  brightly,  but 
did  not  speak  till  a  good  while  after.  She  then  said, 
'  Julian.'  So  then  I  gave  her  a  sketch  of  the  letter, 
and  told  her  about  Julian's  arrangements  in  New 
York,  and  of  his  love  for  her.  She  was  very  happy 
in  his  marriage. 

"On  Monday,  the  20th,  she  was  very  ill,  and  I  began 
to  feel  as  if  the  responsibility  and  care  were  wearing 
out  my  strength ;  and  yet  I  did  not  know  which  way 
to  turn  for  just  the  help  I  needed,  when  Mrs.  Ben- 
noch's  Ellen  walked  in,  and  said,  if  I  would  let  her, 
she  would  be  most  glad  to  stay  with  me.  I  felt  at 
once  she  was  the  only  person  I  should  be  glad  to 
have ;  mamma  also  was  fond  of  her,  and  now  needed 
all  we  could  both  do.  Ellen  had  so  many  nice  little 
ways,  and  was  so  tender.  The  next  two  days 
mamma  seemed  a  little  better ;  we  could  lift  her  from 
one  side  of  the  bed  to  the  other,  which  was  a  great 
refreshment.  It  was  sweet  to  me  always  to  notice 
how  conscious  mamma  was  of  my  presence,  through 


CONCLUSION.  359 

her  closed  eyes.  She  was  glad  to  have  Ellen  relieve 
me,  but  she  wanted  me  to  be  there  just  the  same. 
Once  Ellen  and  Louisa  were  lifting  her,  and  she  said, 
'  What  is  Una  doing  ? '  '  Oh,  I  am  moving  the  pil 
lows,  mamma/  And  then  she  smiled. 

"  We  had  a  rubber  hot-water  bottle  which  was  a 
great  comfort  to  her ;  but  once,  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  when  we  wanted  it  very  much,  the  stopper 
would  not  unscrew.  Ellen,  Louisa,  and  I  all  tried  in 
vain.  At  last,  as  I  was  sitting  before  the  fire,  hope 
lessly  turning  it,  it  suddenly  came  off.  We  did  not 
know  mamma  was  aware  of  what  was  going  on  ;  but 
when  we  put  it  in  the  bed,  she  said,  '  Who  got  the 
stopper  out  at  last  ?'  'I  did,  mamma.'  And  though 
she  did  not  say  anything,  I  knew  she  was  glad  I  did 
it.  I  sent  for  an  air-pillow,  which  was  a  great  rest 
to  her.  She  asked,  '  Oh,  who  thought  of  this  ? '  I 
told  her  that  I  did,  and  she  said,  'Just  like  my 
darling.  She  always  thinks  of  the  best  things. 
There  is  nobody  like  her  in  the  world  !'  I  told  her 
how  many  people  came  to  inquire  after  her,  and  how 
dearly  everybody  loved  her;  and  the  sweet,  depre 
cating  look  showed  faintly  on  her  face  again. 

"  On  one  of  these  two  comparatively  happy  days, 
when  mamma  was  looking  a  little  brighter,  Lady 
Hardy  sent  up  a  loving  message  to  her,  and  a  request 
that  I  might  go  for  a  half-hour's  drive  with  her. 
Mamma  was  delighted  to  have  me  go,  and  I  shall 
never  forget  how  sweet  Lady  Hardy  was.  She  took 
me  in  Kensington  Gardens,  by  the  water ;  and  it  was 


360  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

one  of  those  exquisite,  prophetic  days,  when  all  spring 
seems  in  the  sunny  air  and  the  returning  birds ;  and 
she  watched  the  freshening  of  my  face,  and  my  en 
joyment  of  it,  with  a  sympathy  that  went  to  my  heart. 
And  I  did  feel,  for  a  little  while,  as  if  my  fears  might 
be  lightened  after  all. 

"  But  the  shadow  came  down  again  when  I  entered 
that  hushed  room,  and  mamma  looked  so  much  more 
ill  in  contrast  with  the  bright  air  and  the  singing 
birds.  I  had  hitherto  worn  a  black  dress,  which  I 
thought  mamma  liked :  and  at  night  I  was  robed  in 

.     O  "  O 

a  blue  dressing-gown.  To  my  surprise,  mamma  now 
said,  '  I  wish  you  would  n't  wear  that  old  thing : 
why  don't  you  wear  the  purple  one  I  bought  for 
you  ? '  I  said  I  would  ;  and,  thinking  her  dear  eyes 
might  enjoy  brightness  of  color,  I  wore  in  the  day 
time  a  purple  merino,  prettily  made,  and  purple 
ribbons  in  my  hair.  The  first  time,  I  said,  '  See, 
mamma,  I  have  put  on  my  nicest  gown,  and  made 
myself  look  as  pretty  as  I  could.'  It  took  several 
openings  of  her  eyes  to  examine  me  all  over,  and 
then  she  said,  '  Yes,  that  is  very  nice ;  you  do  look 
very  pretty.'  And  I  noticed  the  first  time  I  came 
to  her  in  the  night,  she  looked  to  see  if  I  had  on  the 
right  dressing-gown. 

"Until  the  23d,  I  had  always  sent  Ellen  to  bed 
about  ten,  having  myself  taken  a  sleep  before ;  and 
I  did  the  night  nursing  myself.  But  that  night 
(Thursday)  Ellen  begged  me  to  go  regularly  to  bed 
in  my  own  room;  and  mamma  seemed  quiet,  and 


CONCLUSION.  361 

Ellen  felt  quite  able  to  take  care  of  her.  So  I  went, 
rather  unwillingly ;  but  when  I  fairly  got  to  bed,  the 
first  time  for  nine  nights,  I  remember  nothing  more, 
until  Ellen's  voice  roused  me,  to  ask  about  a  lotion  ; 
for  she  said  mamma  had  a  pain  in  her  chest,  and 
wanted  it.  If  I  had  not  been  so  heavy  with  sleep,  I 
should  have  gone  down  at  once ;  but  I  hardly  knew 
where  I  was  for  a  moment,  and  mechanically  gave 
Ellen  the  direction.  It  seemed  but  a  moment  after 
that  Ellen  came  again,  and  said,  'You  must  come, 
please,  Miss  Una.  Your  mamma  thinks  nobody  else 
can  do  anything  for  her/ 

"I  was  wide  awake  in  a  second,  then,  and  flew  down 
stairs  in  an  agony  to  think  I  had  ever  consented  to 
leave  her;  but,  indeed,  I  could  not  have  foreseen  the 
dreadful  pain  in  which  I  found  her.  I  think  I  must 
understand  something  of  the  agony  of  love  with 
which  a.  mother  would  rush  to  her  child,  for  our 
positions  seemed  reversed;  and  I  saw  that  Ellen's 
unwillingness  to  wake  me  had  made  her  try  things 
herself,  when  what  mamma  really  wanted  was  to 
have  me. 

"  '  Oh,'  she  said,  '  Ellen  is  so  kind ;  but  she  does  n't 
know  what  I  wanted.  I  have  such  a  terrible  pain, 
it  seems  as  if  I  could  n't  bear  it ;  and  I  'm  sure  the 
lotion  will  make  it  better.'  It  seems  she  had  felt 
this  pain  beginning  before  I  went  upstairs,  but  had 
not  said  anything  about  it,  because  she  thought  noth 
ing  could  be  done  for  it.  I  put  the  lotion  on  her 
chest,  but  after  a  few  moments  she  said  it  did  not 


362  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

burn  at  all ;  and  then,  that  her  chest  suddenly  felt 
terribly  cold.  I  heated  some  of  the  lotion  almost 
boiling  hot,  and  put  it  on  again,  and  even  laid  the 
bottle  of  boiling  water  over  it,  without  the  slightest 
effect.  The  pain  became  so  excruciating  that  every 
breath  was  a  cry  ;  and  Ellen  and  I,  after  trying  every 
conceivable  thing,  were  at  our  wit's  end  indeed ;  and 
I  was  most  seriously  alarmed,  for  the  pain  was  in  an 
entirely  new  place,  arid  the  doctor  had  told  me  the 
congestion  was  clearing,  which  had  encouraged  me 
very  much.  I  think  in  this  world  I  can  never  pass 
such  awful  hours  again.  Mamma,  I  am  sure,  thought 
she  was  dying,  and  once  in  a  while  she  gasped,  '  Oh, 
how  long  can  this  last !  Oh,  I  cannot  draw  another 
breath  ! '  And  then  every  breath  began  to  be  a 
rattle  in  her  throat,  and  tossed  her  about  the  bed ; 
and  I,  knowing  what  her  weakness  really  was,  ex 
pected  almost  every  moment  would  be  the  last.  It 
was  awful  to  think  of  her  dying  in  such  an  agony; 
but  I  did  pray  from  my  heart  that  this  might  be  the 
last  time  she  would  ever  suffer  so.  And  so  the  night 
wore  away  like  weary  years,  and  I  hung  over  her 
broken-hearted,  thinking,  '  0  Lord,  how  long,  how 
long!'  About  six  o'clock  she  became  quiet,  but 
hardly  had  strength  to  draw  her  breath ;  arid  I  did 
nothing  but  listen  for  the  doctor. 

"  The  moment  he  saw  her  his  face  fell,  and  he 
said,  '  Oh,  what  has  happened  ? '  and  he  was  quite 
overcome  for  a  moment.  She  smiled  faintly  as 
he  took  her  hand,  and  said,  '  Oh,  such  a  bad 


CONCLUSION.  363 

night ! '  He  stayed  a  long  time,  rubbing  her  chest 
with  oil,  soothing  her  head,  giving  her  brandy,  and 
ordering  various  comforting  things.  When  I  fol 
lowed  him  out  of  the  room,  he  said  he  was  very 
much  alarmed  about  her,  the  exhaustion  was  so 
complete,  and  the  disease  had  taken  a  turn  for  wrhich 
he  was  not  in  the  least  prepared ;  and  he  said  he 
would  come  again  very  soon,  with  another  physician. 
Then  the  cold  certainty  came  over  me  that  hope  was 
really  gone ;  and  when  the  door  closed  on  him  I  sat 
down  in  the  dining-room  and  shed  a  few  bitter  tears. 
Louisa  came  up  to  me,  and,  crying  herself,  said,  'Don't 
give  way,  Miss  Una  ;  while  there 's  life  there 's  hope/ 
I  went  back,  quiet  and  cheerful  again,  and  the  hours 
seemed  to  pass  very  slowly  till  the  doctors  came. 

"  After  talking  together  awhile  they  came  into 
mamma's  room,  and  our  doctor  said,  bending  over 
her,  *  I  have  brought  a  friend  of  mine  to  see  you, 
Mrs.  Hawthorne.'  She  made  a  slight,  consenting 
motion  with  her  head,  and  opened  her  eyes  to  look 
at  the  new  face.  It  was  a  kind,  careful  face  ;  and  he 
was  quite  an  elderly  man.  He  examined  and  ques 
tioned  her  very  closely,  and  I  interpreted  the  faint 
answers  that  no  one  else  could  understand.  At  last 
he  bent  over  her,  and  said  gently,  'You  are  very, 
very  ill ;  but  I  see  cause  for  some  encouragement, 
and,  please  God,  I  hope  you  will  get  well.'  Again 
she  moved  her  head,  and  said,  'Yes.'  After  a  long 
talk  in  another  room  they  called  me,  and  I  saw  by 
Dr.  Wyld's  agitated  face  that  he,  at  least,  had  little 


364  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

hope.  The  other  doctor  was  spokesman,  and  told  me 
that  it  was  typhoid  pneumonia,  complicated  with 
some  other  congestion ;  but  still  there  were  encour 
aging  symptoms,  if  mamma  could  only  rally  from  her 
excessive  prostration ;  but  this,  he  felt,  was  very 
doubtful.  Still,  I  must  not  lose  hope.  If  she  could 
be  kept  from  the  least  cough  or  disturbance,  and  with 
constant  stimulants  and  nourishment,  she  might  get 
through. 

"  When  I  went  back,  mamma  asked  me  what  they 
thought,  and  I  said,  '  They  think  you  are  dangerously 
ill,  mamma,  but  you  have  so  much  vitality  there  is 
great  hope  still.'  She  said,  'I  know  the  other  doc 
tor  did  not  think  I  would  live.'  This  I  disclaimed, 
and  talked  to  her  cheerfully.  She  was  very  quiet 
all  the  afternoon,  and  who  can  tell  how  breathlessly 
Ellen  and  I  watched  her !  And  there  was  now  the 
consolation  of  having  little  things  to  do  for  her  con 
stantly,  and  seeing  her  take  nourishment  in  tiny 
quantities.  She  hated  the  taste  of  the  brandy,  and 
always  made  a  face  at  it.  When  the  doctor  came  in 
the  evening,  he  stayed  for  several  hours,  going  into  her 
room  two  or  three  times  to  see  how  she  got  on.  The 
last  time,  he  said,  '  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  I  have  now 
come  to  see  how  you  feel,  and  to  say  good-night.' 
After  he  had  gone,  mamma  said,  '  I  know  the  doctor 
thinks  I  am  very  ill.'  *  Yes,  mamma,'  I  said, '  he  is 
very  anxious,  but  we  have  great  hope  still.' 

"  Ellen  would  not  consent  to  leave  me,  and  after  a 
while  mamma  noticed  we  were  both  there,  and  said, 


CONCLUSION.  365 

'  I  don't  see  why  you  are  both  sitting  up  :  I  think 
one  would  do.'  I  said,  '  Well,  I  am  going  to  lie  down 
by  you  now,  mamma.'  So  I  made  Ellen  lie  down  on 
the  sofa,  and  placed  myself  on  one  side  of  mamma's 
broad  bed,  with  the  medicines  and  other  things  within 
my  reach.  And  so  the  night  passed  peacefully ;  and 
on  the  next  day  (Saturday)  I  felt  hope  reviving 
again. 

"...  In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  she  said  sud 
denly,  '  Have  you  telegraphed  to  Julian  ? '  — '  Why,  no, 
mamma,  I  never  thought  of  it.'  She  said  reproach 
fully,  'Oh,  you  should  have  telegraphed.' —  '  But  you 
know,  mamma,  we  hope  you  will  get  better.'  I  felt 
great  sorrow  that  she  should  have  thought  of  this, 
yet  I  could  not  but  think  it  would  have  been  a  great 
mistake,  and  unnecessary  pain  to  Julian. 

"  Mamma  had  been  very  fond  of  our  kitten,  which 
was  a  remarkably  bright  and  pretty  one,  and  used  to 
come  and  lie  on  her  bed,  and  cuddle  up  under  her 
chin  in  the  mornings.  But  the  day  she  was  taken 
ill  kitty  had  disappeared,  and  we  never  saw  her  again. 
On  this  afternoon  I  happened  to  say,  '  We  have  lost 
kitty,  mamma ; '  and  she  said,  '  Oh,  I  have  wondered 
where  she  was,  and  why  she  did  not  come  to  see  me. 
I  know  if  she  would  lie  on  my  chest  it  would  make 
it  warm.' 

"  It  was  near  eleven  o'clock  that  night,  as  Ellen 
and  I  were  preparing  to  lie  down,  and  were  feeling 
quite  cheerful,  that  mamma  suddenly  cried  out,  '  Send 
for  the  doctor!'  I  glauced  at  her  face,  on  which 


366  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

there  was  a  deathly  change,  and  I  flew  downstairs 
to  call  Louisa.  She  ran  out  of  her  room,  and  seized 
my  hands,  sobbing,  and  exclaiming,  '  Oh,  Miss  Una, 
I  could  not  go  to  bed,  for  I  knew  you  'd  want  to 
send  ! '  In  a  moment  she  was  gone,  with  orders  to 
drive  at  utmost  speed ;  and  she  was  no  sooner  gone, 
than  I  remembered,  with  perfect  misery,  that  I  had 
directed  her  to  the  doctor's  house,  instead  of  to  the 
place  he  told  me.  This  occasioned  some  delay, 
though  it  was  not  more  than  an  hour  before  he  ar 
rived.  But  poor  mamma  kept  saying,  '  Why  does  n't 
he  come  ?  Why  does  n't  he  come  ? '  She  complained 
of  most  deathly  faint  ness  and  sinking  ;  '  Oh,  I  never 
felt  anything  like  this  before  ! '  and  she  eagerly  took 
brandy,  and  asked  for  ammonia  to  smell,  and  said, 
'I  know  when  these  things  are  needed.  I  never 
needed  them  before.'  She  said, '  There  was  silence 
in  heaven  for  the  space  of  half  an  hour.  I  know 
now  how  long  half  an  hour  can  be!'  I  had  told 
Rose,  and  she  sat  on  the  stairs  till  after  the  doctor 
came,  and  then  she  came  into  mamma's  room,  and 
did  not  go  out  again.  She  had  been  hysterical  and 
frightened,  but  now  she  was  perfectly  calm  and  sweet. 
I  was  kneeling  by  the  bed,  and  holding  up  mamma 
in  my  arms,  when  the  doctor  came  in ;  and  there  was 
no  need  of  words  between  us.  He  gave  stronger 
stimulants  than  I  had  dared  to  use,  —  even  spoonfuls 
of  ammonia,  with  scarcely  any  water ;  but  with 
hardly  perceptible  effect.  After  that  mamma  said, 
'  I  pinned  my  faith  on  the  ammonia ;  now  I  know 


CONCLUSION.  367 

nothing  can  be  done.'  Her  breathing  became  very 
labored,  and  she  said,  '  Oh,  can't  you  give  me  some 
thing  to  make  me  sleep  ? '  Dr.  Wyld  took  me  aside, 
and  said  it  could  only  be  a  question  of  a  few  hours,  — 
that  there  was  absolutely  no  hope;  but  that  if  he 
gave  her  chloroform,  it  might  hasten  the  end.  It  was 
very  hard  for  me  to  say  yes  ;  but  suddenly  mamma 
said, '  Why  do  you  wait  ?  Can't  you  give  me  any 
thing?'  And  I  said,  'Yes,  anything  to  give  her  a 
moment's  ease.'  So  the  chloroform  was  sent  for ;  but 
even  that  only  rendered  her  partially  unconscious,  and 
the  deathlike  rattle  in  her  throat  came  all  the  time. 

"  Then  I  had  the  relief,  for  a  little  while,  of  passion 
ate  tears,  down  on  the  floor  beside  her,  sobbing,  and 
calling  for  Julian  —  Julian  !  It  seemed  as  if  I  could 
not  bear  to  have  him  away.  And  yet  almost  at  once 
the  revulsion  came,  '  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  this  agony  is 
spared  him !  He  could  be  of  no  use  to  her.'  But  oh, 
how  I  longed  for  him,  to  feel  I  had  some  one  to  do 
more  than  I  !  There  was  the  bitter  sense  that 
mamma  would  never  need  my  self-control  or  tender 
care  again. 

"  Then  I  went  out  and  sat  by  the  doctor,  and  he  told 
me  that  he  did  not  think  anything  could  have  been 
done  to  save  her,  and,  at  the  best,  it  could  have  been 
but  for  a  very  little  while.  She  was  too  delicate,  and 
unable  to  bear  the  slightest  shock.  Otherwise,  she 
would  not  have  failed  so  rapidly,  for  the  actual  com 
plaint  she  began  with  was  not  sufficient  to  account 
for  it. 


368  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

"After  a  while  the  doctor  went  home  to  sleep ;  Eose 
and  Ellen  also  lay  down.  I  never  expected  to  hear 
mamma's  voice  again,  and  it  was  as  if  she  spoke  after 
death,  when  she  suddenly  exclaimed  that  she  wanted 
more  air.  Again  the  agony  of  losing  her  woke  up 
fully  in  my  heart,  and  also  a  wild  hope  that,  if  she 
could  rally  so  wonderfully,  she  might  get  over  it  after 
all.  We  kindled  the  fire  up  brightly,  and  then 
opened  the  window  wide,  and  the  cold  air  from  the 
starless  night  rushed  in.  We  raised  mamma  upon 
pillows.  She  said  she  hoped  Eose  had  gone  to  hed, 
and  told  Ellen  to  lie  down ;  and  then  she  said, '  Una, 
come  here.'  I  got  on  the  outside  of  the  bed,  and 
crept  close  up  behind  her,  as  she  lay  on  her  side ;  and 
so  the  rest  of  the  night  passed  in  a  sort  of  dream, 
that  was  not  rest  nor  sleep,  but  more  a  conscious 
holding  of  one's  breath  to  hear  the  end. 

"  When  the  gray  dawn  came,  she  said  she  was  very 
cold.  We  heated  flannel  and  bottles,  and  put  cotton 
wool  all  about  her  face  and  neck.  The  upper  part  of 
her  face  looked  already  exquisite  in  its  pale  peace ; 
but  there  was  an  expression  of  intense  pain  and 
laboring  for  breath  about  her  mouth.  She  frequently 
opened  her  eyes  partially,  and  seemed  to  take  a  yearn 
ing,  fading  look,  that  became  more  and  more  dim. 
We  offered  some  nourishment,  but  she  shook  her 
head.  '  !STo  —  no  more  —  that  is  past ! '  And  then 
I  knew  it  wras  only  a  question  of  how  long  her  un 
aided  strength  would  flicker  to  the  end.  She  had 
been  very  sensitive  to  touch  throughout  the  illness ; 


CONCLUSION.  369 

but  now  I  sat  down  close  by  the  bed,  where  she  could 
see  me  whenever  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  laid  my 
hand  close  beside  hers.  In  a  few  moments  she 
grasped  it,  and  held  it  with  so  tight  a  clasp,  that,  for 
hours  after  her  death,  I  felt  as  if  her  hand  were  still 
in  mine.  Then  I  knew  I  was  beginning  the  last 
precious  office  I  could  do  for  her  on  earth,  —  to  make 
her  conscious  of  my  love  and  strength  while  she  trod 
with  her  own  sweet  patience  through  the  valley  of 
the  shadow  of  death. 

"With  my  other  hand  T  fanned  her  all  the  time 
with  a  slow,  regular  motion,  hour  after  hour,  hoping  — 
praying  that  my  strength  might  last  while  she  lived. 
When  her  eyes  were  closed,  the  tears  would  pour 
over  my  face,  and  Ellen  or  Eose  would  wipe  them 
away.  They  wanted  me  to  let  them  take  my  place, 
but,  if  I  had  known  T  should  die,  I  would  not  have 
left  it.  I  felt  as  if  my  hand  spoke  to  her  all  the 
words  of  cheer  and  comfort  that  I  could  not  say,  and 
to  which  doubtless  she  could  not  have  listened.  I 
was  not  sure  she  could  see  me,  but  whenever  her 
eyes  were  partly  open,  I  could  smile  brightly  at  her ; 
and  I  answered  a  good  many  things  that  I  knew  she 
might  be  thinking  about,  if  she  could  think  at  all,  as 
I  do  not  doubt  she  did.  Once  she  said,  very  slowly, 
'  I  am  tired  —  too  tired  —  I  am  —  glad  to  go  —  I 
only — wanted  to  live  —  for  you  —  and  Eose.'  Another 
time  she  said,  '  Flowers  —  flowers  — '  and  I  told 
them  to  bring  an  exquisite  white  hyacinth ;  and  she 
smiled.  Eose  had  brought  in  a  little  yellow  crocus, 
VOL.  ii.  24 


370  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

early  in  the  morning,  the  first  that  had  come  up ;  and 
I  told  her  about  it,  and  it  was  laid  on  the  bed  beside 
her.  The  sweet  church-bells  sounded,  and  the  sun 
shone  brightly.  '  It  is  Sunday  morning,  mamma, 
and  a  very  lovely  day.'  Towards  noon  I  saw  that 
the  little  crocus  had  opened  wide  upon  the  quilt,  —  a 
perfect  sun.  Presently  Mrs.  Bennoch  came  in,  and 
knelt  down  at  the  head  of  the  bed.  The  doctor  came 
in,  and  mamma  seemed  to  know  it,  and,  with  a  great 
effort,  stretched  out  her  other  hand,  and  he  knelt 
down,  and  hid  his  face  upon  it.  I  rose  up,  still 
holding  her  precious  hand,  and  Rose  came  and  stood 
behind  me.  Some  one  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  was 
sobbing ;  but  I  did  not  want  to  cry,  then.  I  did  not 
look  at  her  face  any  more  when  I  heard  the  last 
struggle  for  breath,  but  held  her  hand  tighter.  Then 
a  breathless  stillness  and  silence.  I  laid  her  hand 
gently  down,  still  without  looking,  and  Rose  and  I 
went  upstairs  together.  .  .  . 

"The  next  day  we  drove  out  and  got  flowers,  the 
whitest  and  most  fragrant,  and  put  them  around  her  on 
the  bed,  and  they  were  kept  there,  fresh  and  fragrant, 
until  the  next  Friday;  and  we  would  come  in,  from 
the  sad  business  we  were  obliged  to  attend  to,  and 
gather  peace  and  strength.  Her  face  looked  more 
and  more  like  an  angel's  ;  a  delicate  color  stayed  upon 
the  cheeks,  a  lovely  smile  upon  the  slightly  parted  lips ; 
her  beautiful  white  hair  was  brushed  a  little  back 
from  her  face,  under  a  pretty  cap,  and  her  waxen 
hands  lay  softly  folded  against  each  other  upon  her 


CONCLUSION.  371 

breast ;  the  last  day  we  took  off  her  wedding  ring 
and  I  wore  it.  The  Friday  was  my  birthday,  and  I 
sat  beside  her  a  long  time,  and  her  presence  seemed 
to  bless  me,  as  she  had  always  done  upon  my  birth 
day. 

"  On  Saturday  we  followed  her  to  Kensal  Green, 
and  she  was  laid  there  on  a  sunny  hillside  looking 
towards  the  east.  We  had  a  head  and  foot  stone  of 
white  marble,  with  a  place  for  flowers  between,  and 
Eose  and  I  planted  some  ivy  there  that  I  had  brought 
from  America,  and  a  periwinkle  from  papa's  grave. 
The  inscription  is,  —  Sophia,  wife  of  Nathaniel  Haw 
thorne  ;  and  on  the  foot-stone, '  I  am  the  Resurrection 
and  the  Life.' " 

—  Sophia  Hawthorne  had  been  loved  by  every  one 
who  knew  her.  She  had  given  happiness  and  eman 
cipation  to  one  of  the  foremost  men  of  his  time. 
Apart  from  her  blessed  influence,  he  could  never  have 
become  the  man  he  was.  Greater  humility,  tender 
ness,  enlightenment,  and  strength  have  not  been 
combined  in  a  woman.  .She  lived  for  her  husband; 
and  when  he  died,  her  love  of  life  died  also ;  but  her 
children  remained,  and  she  stayed  in  this  world  for 
their  sake.  Their  love  and  support  was  the  very 
breath  of  her  existence  :  had  these  failed,  or  had 
she  felt  that  they  no  longer  needed  her,  she  would 
have  vanished  at  once.  Her  every  act  and  thought 
had  reference  to  them ;  it  was  almost  appalling  to  be 
the  object  of  such  limitless  devotion  and  affection. 


372  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS    WIFE. 

During  these  closing  years  of  her  life  she  had  oc 
cupied  much  of  her  time  in  transcribing  her  husband's 
journals  for  publication.  This  work  was  a  great  pleas 
ure  to  her,  for  much  of  the  material  she  had  never 
till  then  read,  and  much  of  it  recalled  scenes  and 
events  in  which  they  had  participated ;  so  that  it 
seemed  as  if  they  were  still  conversing  together.  In 
deed,  from  a  short  time  after  his  departure  until  the 
hour  came  for  her  to  rejoin  him,  she  always  had  a 
feeling  that  he  was  near  her,  —  that  their  separation 
was  of  the  senses  only,  not  spiritual.  After  the  jour 
nals  were  published,  she  turned  to  the  posthumous  nov 
els,  and  had  begun  the  transcription  of  "  Grimshawe  " 
when  her  earthly  career  ceased.  Afterwards,  her 
daughter  Una,  assisted  by  Robert  Browning,  deci 
phered  the  manuscript  of  "  Septimius,"  and  it  was  pub 
lished  in  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly,"  and  then  in  book 
form  in  England  and  America.  Meanwhile  "  Grim 
shawe  "  was  lost  sight  of,  arid  only  carne  to  light  again 
recently. 

The  preceding  transcript  from  Una's  journal  has  a 
double  interest,  —  in  respect  of  its  subject,  and  in  re 
spect  of  the  light  it  throws  upon  the  writer's  character. 
The  first-born  child  of  Hawthorne  and  his  wife  was 
in  every  way  worthy  of  her  parents.  Whatever  they 
had  hoped  and  prayed  for  was  fulfilled  in  her  charac 
ter.  Her  short  life  was  acquainted  with  more  than 
enough  of  sadness  ;  but  no  occasion  for  the  manifesta 
tion  of  truth,  charity,  generosity,  self-sacrifice,  ever 


CONCLUSION.  373 

found  her  wanting.  After  her  mother's  death  she 
lived  in  London,  and  devoted  herself  for  several  years 
to  the  care  of  orphan  and  destitute  children.  Her 
great  heart  longed  to  love  and  benefit  all  poor  and  un 
happy  persons,  and  she  brought  succor  and  happiness 
to  many.  Her  intellect  was  active  and  capacious,  and 
at  one  period  of  her  life  took  a  radical  turn,  question 
ing  and  testing  all  things  with  a  boldness  and  pene 
tration,  combined  with  a  sound  impartiality,  rare  in 
the  feminine  mind.  But  at  length  the  lofty  religious 
bias  of  her  nature  triumphed  over  all  doubts,  and  she 
was  confirmed  in  the  Church  of  England.  After  leav 
ing  London,  she  lived  for  a  time  with  her  brother  in 
Dresden ;  and  then  made  a  visit  to  her  married  sister 
in  New  York,  where  she  became  acquainted  with  Al 
bert  Webster,  a  young  writer  who  bade  fair  to  do  great 
things  for  American  literature.  When  I  moved  to 
London,  she  rejoined  me  there ;  and  Webster  wrote, 
offering  her  marriage.  She  accepted  him.  His  health 
was  delicate,  and,  in  order  to  strengthen  it,  he  started 
on  a  voyage  to  the  Sandwich  Islands.  He  died  on  the 
passage ;  and  a  friend  wrote  to  Una,  announcing  the 
news.  The  letter  came  one  afternoon,  as  we  were  all 
sitting  in  our  little  library.  She  began  to  read,  but 
after  a  moment  quickly  turned  over  the  page  and 
glanced  on  the  other  side.  "Ah — yes!"  she  said, 
slowly,  with  a  slight  sigh.  She  made  no  complaint, 
nor  gave  way  to  any  passion  of  grief;  but  she  seemed 
to  become  spiritualized,  —  to  relinquish  the  world, 
along  with  her  hopes  of  happiness  in  it.  She  made 


374  HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS   WIFE. 

no  change  in  her  daily  life  and  occupations.  She  was 
a  "  district  visitor"  in  the  church,  and  she  continued  to 
make  her  regular  rounds  as  usual.  But  before  the 
end  of  the  year  her  dark  auburn  hair  had  become 
quite  gray,  and  her  vital  functions  and  organs  were 
(as  the  physician  afterwards  told  me)  those  of  an  old 
woman.  In  the  summer  of  1877  I  went  to  Hastings 
with  my  family  ;  but  Una  preferred  to  pay  a  visit  to 
some  friends  of  hers  in  a  sort  of  Protestant  convent  at 
the  little  town  of  Clewer,  near  Windsor.  We  had  no 
suspicion  —  nor,  I  think,  had  she  —  that  her  health 
was  even  precarious.  But  ten  days  after  our  parting 
I  received  a  telegram  from  Clewer  stating  that  Una 
was  dangerously  ill.  Leaving  Hastings  immediately, 
I  arrived  at  Clewer  at  midnight.  The  lady  who  met 
me  at  the  railway-station  said,  "  You  are  too  late."  We 
drove  to  the  convent,  and  there,  in  the  little  cell-like 
room,  on  a  narrow  bed,  she  lay.  She  had  died  within 
an  hour  after  the  telegram  was  sent.  We  laid  her  in 
Kensal  Green  Cemetery,  close  beside  her  mother. 

Hawthorne's  nature  was  so  large,  vigorous,  and  in 
many  respects  unprecedented,  and  his  objective  ac 
tivity  was  at  the  same  time  so  disproportionately  small, 
that  it  would  be  impossible  to  give  his  portrait  relief 
and  solidity  without  the  aid  of  such  reflections  and 
partial  reproductions  of  himself  as  were  presented  in 
those  nearest  and  dearest  to  him.  They  serve  to  hu 
manize  and  define  what  would  else  seem  vague  and 
obscure.  He  was  a  man  who  easily  and  indeed  in- 


CONCLUSION.  375 

evitably  produced  an  impression  upon  the  observer, 
but  whom  it  was  very  difficult  to  know.  Superficial 
men  are  readily  described  and  understood ;  but  men 
like  Hawthorne  can  never  be  touched  and  dissected,  be 
cause  the  essence  of  their  character  is  never  concretely 
manifested.  They  must  be  studied  more  in  their 
effects  than  in  themselves ;  and,  at  last,  the  true 
revelation  will  be  made  only  to  those  who  have  in 
themselves  somewhat  of  the  same  mystery  they  seek 
to  fathom. 


APPENDIX. 


APPENDIX. 


SINCE  the  Biography  was  in  print,  the  author  has 
received  from  Mrs.  Horace  Mann  the 'three  following 
letters,  written  by  Hawthorne  to  her  husband  at  the 
time  of  his  ejection  from  the  Custom  House.  While 
they  do  not  add  anything  of  importance  to  our  knowl 
edge  of  the  situation,  they  are  interesting  as  defining 
his  attitude  in  his  own  words,  and  as  incidental  evi 
dence  of  the  independence  of  his  personal  character. 

SALEM,  June  26,  1849. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  — I  have  just  received  your  note,  in 
which  you  kindly  offer  me  your  interest  towards  re 
instating  me  in  the  office  of  Surveyor. 

I  was  perfectly  in  earnest  in  what  I  told  Elizabeth,  and 
should  still  be  unwilling  to  have  you  enter  into  treaty 
with  Mr.  King,  Mr.  Upham,  or  other  members  of  the 
local  party,  in  my  behalf.  But,  on  returning  here,  I 
found  a  state  of  things  rather  different  from  what  I  ex 
pected;  the  general  feeling  being  strongly  in  my  favor, 
and  a  disposition  to  make  a  compromise,  advantageous 
to  me,  on  the  part  of  some,  at  least,  of  those  who  had 


380  APPENDIX. 

acted  against  me.  The  "  Essex  Register  "  of  yesterday 
speaks  of  an  intention  to  offer  me  some  better  office 
than  that  of  which  I  have  been  deprived.  Now  I  do 
not  think  that  I  can,  preserving  my  self-respect,  accept 
of  any  compromise.  No  other  office  can  be  offered  me, 
that  will  not  have  been  made  vacant  by  the  removal 
of  a  Democrat;  and  even  if  there  were  such  an  office, 
still,  as  charges  have  been  made  against  me,  complete 
justice  can  be  done  only  by  placing  me  exactly  where 
I  was  before.  This  also  would  be  the  easiest  thing 
for  the  Administration  to  do,  as  they  still  hold  my 
successor's  commission  suspended.  A  compromise  might 
indeed  be  made,  not  with  me,  but  with  Captain  Put 
nam,  by  giving  him  a  place  in  this  Custom  House,  — 
which  would  be  of  greater  emolument  than  my  office ; 
and  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  the  Collector  would 
accede  to  such  an  arrangement.  Perhaps  this  idea  might 
do  something  towards  inducing  Mr.  Meredith  to  make 
the  reinstatement. 

I  did  not  intend  to  involve  you  in  this  business,  nor, 
indeed,  have  I  desired  any  friend  to  take  up  my  cause ; 
but  if,  in  view  of  the  whole  matter,  you  should  see  fit 
to  do  as  Mr.  Mills  advises,  I  shall  feel  truly  obliged. 
Of  course,  after  consenting  that  you  should  use  your 
influence  in  my  behalf,  I  should  feel  myself  bound  to 
accept  the  reinstatement,  if  offered.  I  beg  you  to  be 
lieve,  also,  that  I  would  not  allow  you  to  say  a  word 
for  me  if  I  did  not  know  that  I  have  within  my  power 
a  complete  refutation  of  any  charges  of  official  mis 
conduct  that  have  been  or  may  be  brought  against 
me. 

Sophia  and  the  children  are   well.     The  managers  of 


APPENDIX.  381 

the  Lyceum  desire  to  know  if  you  will  deliver  two  lectures 
for  them,  before  the  Session  of  Congress. 
Very  truly  yours, 

NATH.  HAWTHORNE. 
Hon.  HORACE  MANN,  West  Newton. 

SALEM,  July  2,  1849. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  I  am  inclined  to  think,  from  various 
suspicious  indications  that  I  have  noticed  or  heard  of, 
between  the  Whigs  and  one  or  two  of  my  subordinate 
officers,  that  they  are  concocting,  or  have  already  con 
cocted,  a  new  set  of  charges  against  me.  Would  it  not 
be  a  judicious  measure  for  you  to  write  to  the  Depart 
ment,  requesting  a  copy  of  these  charges,  that  I  may 
have  an  opportunity  of  answering  them  ?  There  can 
be  nothing  (setting  aside  the  most  direct  false  testi 
mony,  if  even  that)  which  I  shall  not  have  it  in  my 
power  either  to  explain,  defend,  or  disprove.  I  had 
some  idea  of  calling  for  these  charges  through  the  news 
papers  ;  but  it  would  bring  on  a  controversy  which 
might  be  interminable,  and  could  only,  however  clearly 
I  should  prove  my  innocence,  make  my  reinstatement 
the  more  difficult;  so  that  I  judge  it  best  to  meet  the 
charges  in  this  way,  —  always  provided  that  there  are 
any.  It  grieves  me  to  give  you  so  much  trouble  ;  but 
you  must  recollect  that  it  was  your  own  voluntary  kind 
ness,  and  not  my  importunity,  that  involved  you  in  it. 
Very  truly  yours, 

NATH.  HAWTHORNE. 

SALEM,  Aug.  8,  1849. 

MY  DEAR    SIR,  —  My  case   is  so  simple,  and   the  ne 
cessary  evidence  comes  from  so  few  sources   and  is  so 


382  APPENDIX. 

direct  in  its  application,  that  I  think  I  cannot  mistake 
my  way  through  it ;  nor  do  I  see  how  it  can  be  preju 
diced  by  my  remaining  quiet  for  the  present.  I  will 
sketch  it  to  you  as  briefly  as  possible. 

Mr.  Upham  accuses  me  of  suspending  one  or  more 
Inspectors,  for  refusing  to  pay  party-subscriptions,  and 
avers  that  I  sent  them  a  letter  of  suspension  by  a  mes 
senger,  whom  he  names,  and  that,  —  I  suppose  after  the 
payment  of  the  subscriptions  —  I  withdrew  the  suspension. 

I  shall  prove  that  a  question  was  referred  to  rne,  as 
chief  executive  officer  of  the  Custom  House,  from  the  Col 
lector's  office,  as  to  what  action  should  be  taken  on  a 
letter  from  the  Treasury  Department  requiring  the  dis 
missal  of  our  temporary  Inspectors.  We  had  two  officers 
in  that  position.  They  were  Democrats,  men  with  large 
families  and  no  resources,  and  irreproachable  as  officers ; 
and  for  these  reasons  I  was  unwilling  that  they  should 
lose  their  situations.  In  order,  therefore,  to  comply  with 
the  spirit  of  the  Treasury  order,  without  removing  these 
two  men,  I  projected  a  plan  of  suspending  them  from  of 
fice  during  the  inactive  season  of  the  year,  but  without 
removing  them,  and  in  such  a  manner  that  they  might 
return  to  duty  when  the  state  of  business  should  justify 
it.  I  wrote  an  order  (which  I  still  hold  in  my  possession) 
covering  these  objects,  which,  however,  was  not  intended 
to  be  acted  on  immediately,  but  for  previous  consultation 
with  the  Deputy  Collector  and  the  head  clerk.  On  con 
sulting  the  latter  gentleman,  he  was  of  opinion,  for  vari 
ous  reasons,  which  he  cited,  that  the  two  Inspectors  might 
be  allowed  to  remain  undisturbed  until  further  orders 
from  the  Treasury,  to  which,  as  the  responsibility  was  en 
tirely  with  the  Collector's  department,  I  made  no  objec- 


APPENDIX.  383 

tion.  And  here,  so  far  as  I  had  any  knowledge  or  concern, 
the  matter  ended. 

But  it  is  said  that  I  notified  the  Inspectors  of  their 
suspension  by  a  certain  person,  who  is  named.  I  have 
required  an  explanation  of  this  person ;  and  he  at  once 
avowed  that,  being  aware  of  this  contemplated  move 
ment,  and  being  in  friendly  relations  with  these  two  men, 
he  thought  it  his  duty  to  inform  them,  of  it ;  but  he  most 
distinctly  states  that  he  did  it  without  my  authority  or 
knowledge,  and  that  he  will  testify  to  this  effect  when 
ever  I-  shall  call  upon  him  so  to  do.  I  did  not  inquire 
what  communication  he  had  with  the  two  Inspectors,  or 
with  either  of  them ;  for  I  look  upon  his  evidence  as 
clearing  me,  whatever  may  have  passed  between  him  and 
them.  But  my  idea  is  (I  may  be  mistaken,  but  it  is 
founded  on  some  observation  of  the  manoeuvres  of  small 
politicians,  and  knowing  the  rigid  discipline  of  Custom 
Houses  as  to  party-subscriptions)  that  there  really  was 
an  operation  to  squeeze  an  assessment  out  of  the  recusant 
Inspectors,  under  the  terror  of  an  impending  removal  or 
suspension ;  that  one  of  the  Inspectors  turned  traitor, 
and  was  impelled,  by  the  threats  and  promises  of  Mr. 
ITpham  and  his  coadjutors,  to  bring  his  evidence  to  a 
pretty  direct  point  on  me ;  and  that  Mr.  Upham,  in 
his  memorial  to  the  Treasury  Department,  defined  and 
completed  the  lie  in  such  shape  as  I  have  given  it  above. 
But  I  do  not  see  how  it  can  stand,  for  a  moment,  against 
my  defence. 

The  head  clerk  (the  same  Mr.  Burchmore  whose  letter 
I  transmitted  to  you)  was  turned  out  a  week  ago,  and 
will  gladly  give  his  evidence  at  any  moment,  proving  the 
grounds  on  which  I  acted.  The  other  person,  who  is  said 


384  APPENDIX. 

to  have  acted  as  messenger,  is  still  in  office,  as  Weigher 
and  Gauger,  at  a  salary  of  fifteen  hundred  dollars  per 
annum.  He  is  a  poor  man,  having  been  in  office  but  two 
years,  and  expended  all  his  income  in  paying  debts  for 
which  he  was  an  indorser;  and  he  now  wishes  to  get  a 
few  hundred  dollars  to  carry  him  to  California,  or  give 
him  some  other  start  in  life.  Still  he  will  come  forward 
if  I  call  upon  him,  but  of  course  would  rather  wait  for  his 
removal,  which  will  doubtless  take  place  before  the  ses 
sion  of  Congress.  Meantime  I  have  no  object  to  attain, 
worth  purchasing  at  the  sacrifice  he  must  make.  My 
Surveyorship  is  lost;  and  I  have  no  expectation,  nor  any 
desire,  of  regaining  it.  My  purpose  is  simply  to  make 
such  a  defence  to  the  Senate  as  will  insure  the  rejection 
of  my  successor,  and  thus  satisfy  the  public  that  I  was 
removed  on  false  or  insufficient  grounds.  Then,  if  Mr. 
Upham  should  give  me  occasion  —  or  perhaps  if  he  should 
not  —  I  shall  do  my  best  to  kill  and  scalp  him  in  the 
public  prints ;  and  I  think  I  shall  succeed.  .  .  . 

[Here  a  dozen  lines  or  so  have  been  cut  out  by  Mrs. 
Mann,  to  satisfy  the  rapacity  of  some  autograph-fiend, 
who,  should  this  meet  his  eye,  is  requested  to  forward  a 
copy  of  the  passage  to  the  publishers.] 

I  mean  soon  to  comply  with  your  kind  invitation  to 
come  and  see  you,  not  on  the  above  business,  but  because 
I  think  of  writing  a  school-book,  —  or,  at  any  rate,'  a  book 
for  the  young,  —  and  should  highly  prize  your  advice  as  to 
what  is  wanted,  and  how  it  should  be  achieved.  I  mean 
as  soon  as  possible  —  that  is  to  say,  as  soon  as  I  can  find 
a  cheap,  pleasant,  and  healthy  residence  —  to  remove 
into  the  country,  and  bid  farewell  forever  to  this  abomi 
nable  city ;  for,  now  that  my  mother  is  gone,  I  have  no 


APPENDIX.  385 

longer  anything  to  keep  me  here.  —  Sophia  and  the  chil 
dren  are  pretty  well.  With  my  best  regards  to  Mrs. 
Mann,  I  am 

Very  truly  yours, 

NATH.  HAWTHORNE. 

P.  S.  Do  pardon  me  for  troubling  you  with  this  long 
letter;  but  I  am  glad  to  put  you  in  possession  of  the 
facts,  in  case  of  accidents. 

—  The  order  of  suspension  above  referred  to  (with 
the  day  of  the  month  left  blank)  is  given  below. 

NOTICE. 
SURVEYOR'S  OFFICE,  SALEM,  Nov.  — ,  1847. 

The  services  of  temporary  officers  being  seldom  required 
at  this  season  of  the  year,  Messrs.  Millet  and  Laidsey  will 
consider  themselves  relieved  from  duty,  after  the  dis 
charge  of  the  vessels  on  which  they  may  be  at  present 
engaged,  unless  when  the  permanent  Inspectors  are  all 
employed. 

NATH.  HAWTHORNE,  Surveyor. 


VOL.  ii.  25 


INDEX. 


INDEX. 


A  BBOTSFORD,  visit,  ii.  122. 

-^-    Abolitionism  :  Hawthorne's  position,  i.  87;  Pierce's,  i.  483. 
Acheron,  pit,  i.  492. 
Adam  and  Eve  :  Hawthorne  and  wife,  i.  215,  216,  253  ;  baby's  joke, 

i.  279;  the  Fall,  i.  379. 
Adams,  Hannah,  her  History,  i.  61. 
Addison,  Joseph:  critique  on  Milton,  i.  75;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  reading, 

i.  77 ;  seen  in  fancy,  ii.  72;  home  at  Bilton  Hall,  ii.  236. 
Adelantado  of  the  Seven  Cities,  i.  160. 
Adventurer,  story  of  an,  ii.  131. 

Adventures  of  Ferdinand,  Count  Fathom,  Hawthorne  reading,  i.  105. 
^Esthetic  Papers,  by  Elizabeth  Hawthorne,  i.  300-332. 
Agatha,  a  projected  story,  i.  475. 
Age,  youth  renewed,  i.  492. 
Agriculture,  Joseph  Hawthorne's  interest,  i.  29. 
Aikin,  Mr.,  Liverpool  associate,  ii.  34. 
Aikin,  Berkeley.     (See  Kortright.) 
Ainsworth  Family,  description,  ii.  69,  70. 
Air-castles,  i.  497. 
Albany,  Eng.,  visit,  ii.  108-116. 
Albany,  N.  Y.,  fort,  i.  20. 

Albert,  Prince,  marriage  and  character,  ii.  75,  76. 
Alchemist,  metaphor,  i.  78. 
Alcott,  A.  Bronson  :  visit  to  Brook  Farm,  i.  228;  wife's  report,  i.  266; 

Wayside  purchased  from,  i.  434,  435,  451;  stays  to  tea,  ii.  14;  family, 

ii.  267 ;  Path,  ii.  286 ;  daughters,  ii.  322,  326.' 
Alcott,  Louisa  M.,  in  the  hospitals,  ii.  326.     (See  above.) 
Aldershott,  Eng.,  review,  ii.  107, 108. 
Alhambra,  allusion,  i.  286. 
Allen,  William,  at  Brook  Farm,  i.  228,  229. 


390  INDEX. 

Allingham,  William,  letter,  ii.  66,  67. 

Allston,  Washington:  aid  in  painting  to  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  i.  65,  66; 
death,  i.  270. 

Almshouse,  story,  i.  489. 

Amalia,  Countess,  her  age,  ii.  96. 

Amberly,  Lady,  ii.  355. 

Ambleside,  Miss  Martineau's  home,  ii.  24,  27. 

America:  advancing  mind,  i.  249;  Miss  Bremer's  visit,  i.  356;  Haw 
thorne's  restlessness,  i.  429  ;  stamp  on  Hawthorne,  i.  434;  politics, 
i.  436 ;  Hawthorne's  departure,  i.  459 ;  young  life,  i.  472 ;  Great  Writer, 
i.  490  ;  Irish,  ii.  29  ;  books,  ii.  36;  Christianity,  ii.  61;  trees,  ii.  63; 
Hawthorne's  proposed  return,  ii.  66,  102 ;  war  with  England  deplored, 
ii.  83 ;  editions  of  Tupper,  ii.  114,  115  ;  Lady  Houghton  compared  to 
American  women,  ii.  129  ;  an  adventurer  more  at  home,  ii.  131 ;  ships 
and  sailors,  ii.  33,  151-163,  226,  227;  citizens  in  Italy,  ii.  172;  artists 
in  Rome,  ii.  182,  186;  education  in,  preferred,  ii.  200:  journals,  ii.  219 ; 
Hawthorne's  greeting  after  seven  years'  absence,  ii.  262;  Bright' s 
love  for,  ii.  295  ;  womanhood,  ii.  308;  her  people  able  to  appreciate 
England,  ii.  325;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  illness,  ii.  355;  ivy  and  peri 
winkle  on  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  grave,  ii.  371  ;  Hawthorne's  posthumous 
works,  ii.  372.  (See  England,  United  States,  etc.) 

American  Magazine  of  Knowledge :  editorship, 'i.  135;  list  of  Hawthorne's 
contributions,  i.  176;  selections,  i.  410. 

Amesbury,  Mass.,  letter,  i.  355. 

Amherst,  Mass.,  Dr.  Peabody's  last  letter,  ii.  52,  53. 

Ancestry:  in  general,  i.  4;  Hawthorne's,  i.  4-38,  83;  Manning,!.  36,  37; 
Peabody,  i.  44-46;  Tupper  portraits,  ii.  110. 

Andrew,  John  Albion,  war-governor,  ii.  312. 

Andromeda,  classic  allusion,  i.  473. 

Anecdotes :  told  by  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  i.  49  et  seq. ;  by  Yankee  captains, 
ii.  75,  76. 

Angelico,  Era,  head,  ii.  278. 

Angels:  in  letter,  i.  237;  in  story,  i.  492;  fragments  gathered,  i.  494; 
peeping,  i.  496. 

Anglesea,  Eng.,  wreck,  ii.  68. 

Anne,  Queen,  costumes  in  her  day,  ii.  223. 

Annuals,  American,  i.  97,  98. 

Antinous:  fascination,  i.  321;  sculpture,  i.  370. 

Apelles,  allusion,  i.  211. 

Apollo :  native  Apollos,  i.  265 ;  statue,  i.  368. 

Appalachicola,  Fla.,  letter,  ii.  313,  314. 

Appleton,  Dr.,  kindness,  ii.  214. 


INDEX.  391 

Appleton,  Judge  John:  i.  28;  mot,  ii.  229. 

Appleton's  Journal,  editorship,  i.  470. 

Arabian  Nights,  The:  Hawthorne  reading,  i.  105,  471,472;  Sinbad, 
i.  473,  474. 

Ararat,  Mount,  i.  433. 

Arbella,  the  ship,  Major  William  Hawthorne  a  passenger,  i.  10. 

Arcadia,  Sidney's,  an  ancient  marked  copy,  i.  34,  35. 

Archer  Family,  Julian  Hawthorne's  friends,  ii.  103,  104. 

Archer,  George,  allusion,  i.  115. 

Architecture:  Elizabethan,  ii.  113,  146,  147;  Koman,  ii.  177. 

Ariel,  Hawthorne  so  called,  i.  166,  247. 

Armida,  allusion,  i.  168,  170. 

Arno  River,  ii.  192,  198. 

Artesian  well,  simile,  i.  446. 

Art:  Allston's  advice  to  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  i.  65;  her  pursuit,  i.  236; 
Hall's  devotion,  ii.  118;  American  artists  in  Rome,  ii.  182,  186;  jeal 
ousy,  ii.  187;  Hawthorne's  culture,  ii.  220,  221;  in  English  exhibi 
tions,  ii.  278,  279;  danger  of  combining  the  didactic  and  dramatic  in 
novels,  ii.  265.  (See  Painters,  Sculpture,  etc.) 

Arthur's  Shield,  a  comparison,  i.  484. 

Art  Journal,  London,  on  Marble  Faun,  ii.  248-250. 

Ass,  Hawthorne's  epistolary  emphasis,  i.  104. 

Athenaeum,  Boston,  i.  239. 

Athenaeum,  The  London  :  stealing  literature,  i.  359  ;  review  of  Long 
fellow,  ii.  77;  bundle,  ii.  102;  Chorley's  connection,  and  Dixon's, 
ii.  223,  224  ;  on  Marble  Faun,  ii.  239,  240,  244,  250. 

Atherton,  Mr.,  his  character,  i.  461,  462. 

Atlantic  Monthly:  Griffith  Gaunt,  ii.  118;  essays  on  England,  ii.  303, 
306-309;  on  the  War,  ii.  310-314,  327,  337; 'dull,  ii.  328  ;  on  Haw 
thorne's  death,  ii.  349,  350;  Septimius  Felton  published,  ii.  372. 

Atlas,  classic  allusion,  i.  473. 

Attica,  Greece,  i.  472. 

Augusta,  Me.  :  proposed  visit,  i.  109;  Bridge  letters,  i.  135-143, 146-153, 
156-158,  162,  163;  lodging,  i.  161. 

Augustus  Caesar,  at  Paestum,  i.  317. 

Aunts,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  childish  sufferings  from  hers,  i.  51-57. 

Aurelius,  Marcus,  statue,  ii.  196. 

Austria,  imperial  race,  ii.  197. 

Authorship,  adopted  as  a  profession,  i.  108,  124. 

Autograph-fiend,  ii.  384. 

Avignon,  France,  visit,  ii.  216. 

Avon  River,  ii.  147. 


• 


392  INDEX. 

BABEL,  tower  of,  gabble,  i.  392. 
Babies:  instructive,  i.  94;  ride,  i.  493;  jander,  ii.  8. 
Bacchus,  classic  allusion,  i.  473. 
Bacon,  Delia,  Shakspearean  theory,  ii.  129. 
Bailey,  Philip  James,  his  Festus,  ii.  128. 
Baja,  Duke  of,  dress  in  youth,  ii.  96. 
Baldeira,  Conselheiro,  ii.  100. 
Ballet,  The,  at  Lisbon,  ii.  81,  83. 
Balsamas,  Countess,  ii.  91. 
Baltimore,  Md.,  proposed  visit,  ii.  343. 
Bancroft,    George:   allusions,   i.    152,   156;  collector,   i.   195;   political 

appeal,  i.  284,  285;  absurd  story,  ii.  69. 
Bangor,  Me.,  visit,  ii.  316. 
Barbadoes  Island,  vigorous  dealing,  i.  23. 
Barber,  Mr.,  of  Poulton,  Eng.,  Hawthorne's  friend,  ii.  351. 
Baring  Brothers,  bankers,  ii.  163-166. 
Barnes,  Justus  Wetmore,  hen-coop,  i.  372. 
Barnum,  Phineas  Taylor,  offer  for  the  Byron  tree,  ii.  141. 
Barstow  Family:  Helen,  i.  193;  Healy,  i.  235. 
Batavia,  Java,  voyage,  i.  495. 

Bath,  Eng.  :  trip,  ii.  237,  242;  letter,  ii.  255  ;  last  visit,  ii.  260. 
Bath,  Me.,  visit,  ii.  315. 
Battle  Abbey,  visit,  ii.  116. 
Baxter,  Richard,  manuscripts,  ii.  223. 
Beatrice  Cenci,  portrait,  ii.  142,  143,  184. 
Beauty,  definition,  i.  209. 
Bedford,  Eng.,  ii.  223. 

Beecher,  Henry  Ward,  lectures  in  England,  ii.  281. 
Beekman,  Mr.,  residence,  i.  488. 
Beelzebub,  cat,  i.  231,  235,  236. 
Beer,  given  to  horses,  ii.  49,  50. 

Beggar:  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  fright,  i.  52-54  ;  death  exemplified,  i.  488. 
Belgium,  art  in  London,  ii.  278. 
Bellerophon,  allusion,  i.  408. 
Bellingham,  Governor  Richard  :  ordered  to  England,  i.  12;  references 

in  Nadhorth  letter,  i.  13-24 passim. 
Belmonte,  Countess  of,  ii.  90. 

Benjamin,  Park:  trouble  with  Goodrich,  5.  136;  reconciliation,  i.  149. 
Bennett,  William  Cox  :  welcome  to  Hawthorne,  ii.  10,  11  ;  poetic  tribute, 

ii.  253,  254. 
Bennoch,  Francis :  defence  of  Hawthorne's  habits,  i.  86,  87  ;  Liverpool 

friendship,   ii.  33,  34;  opinions,  companionship,  ii.  105-1 24 passim ; 


INDEX.  393 

home,  ii.  127-131  passim  ;  at  Coventry,  ii.  231;  in  photograph  story, 
ii.  257 ;  final  visit,  ii.  260 ;  letters  about  the  Southern  Rebellion, 
ii.  277,  290-294;  on  Our  Old  Home,  ii.  305-308;  confused  with  Bright, 
ii.  351;  kindness  of  Mrs.  Bennoch  and  daughter  Ellen  during  Mrs. 
Hawthorne's  last  days,  ii.  358-370. 

Berkshire  County,  Mass.:  hills,  i.  89;  surroundings,  i.  352,  372,  409; 
capital,  i.  386;  climate,  i.  413;  sunset,  i.  421;  leaving,  i.  437;  de 
scriptions,  i.  472. 

Berries,  in  New  England,  ii.  288,  289. 

Beverly,  Mass. :  Elizabeth  Hawthorne's  preference,  i.  465;  sojourn  at 
the  Farms,  ii.  290;  visit,  ii.  324-327.  - 

Bewick  Company,  insolvent  magazine,  i.  131,  137,  156. 

Bible:  quaint  references,  i.  17,  18,  22,  23;  childish  reading,  i.  54,  55; 
quotation  from  Habakkuk,  i.  75;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  reading,  i.  77; 
"  Judge  not,"  i.  88;  Lucifer,  i.  105  ;  Hawthorne's  works  compared  to, 
i.  449;  thanksgiving  Psalms,  i.  487;  translation  of  Job,  ii.  25;  Jericho, 
ii.  95,  113;  Moses,  ii.  100;  Proverbs,  ii.  109;  Joshua,  ii.  113;  Old  Tes 
tament  subjects  for  art,  ii.  185;  characters  in  Perugino's  Deposition, 
ii.  194,  195;  Daniel  in  the  Den,  ii.  279;  Proverbs  illustrated,  ii.  289; 
Fair,  ii.  326.  (See  Religion,  etc.) 

Bill  Familv,  plain  home.  ii.  231. 

Birds:  songs,  i.  272;  crows,  i.  275;  in  Salem,  i.  311;  in  vision,  i.  498- 
505  passim. 

Birmingham,  Eng.,  visit,  ii.  125. 

Bitter-sweet,  cures  a  bad  habit,  i.  50.     (For  poem,  see  Holland.) 

Blackheath,  Bennoch' s  home,  ii.  127-132,  306,  307. 

Black  Sea,  troops,  ii.  15. 

Blair,  Bridge's  negotiation  with,  i.  135. 

Blair,  Corporal,  teacher  of  fencing,  ii.  266. 

Blake,  Samuel,  assignment  to,  i.  137. 

Blenheim,  Eng.,  visit,  ii.  131. 

Blockheads:  callers,  i.  221 ;  Hawthorne  one,  i.  225. 

Blodgett,  Mrs.:  boarding-house,  i.89,  ii.  18, 19,  73;  description  of  guests, 
ii.  74-80;  allusion,  ii.  101,  103,  132;  return  of  Hawthorne,  ii.  122; 
good  table,  ii.  126,  133,  134;  last  visit,  ii.  261. 

Blood-spot,  in  story,  i.  492. 

Boadicea,  Queen,  Peabody  ancestor,  i.  45. 

Bolton  Priory,  Channing's  visit,  ii.  167. 

Books:  for  Hawthorne's  library,  i.  210;  jealousy  of,  i.  248;  antique, 
ii.  223.  (See  Hawthorne? s  Works.) 

Bores,  Hawthorne's  aversion,  i.  81. 

Borghese  Collection,  Italy,  ii.  184,  185. 


394  INDEX. 

Boston,  Eng.,  visit,  ii.  132,  138. 

Boston,  Mass. :  Major  Hawthorne's  arrival,  i.  10  ;  remote  colonists,  i.  20; 
Mary  Rondel's  residence,  i.  35;  plain  living,  i.  43;  Latin  School, 
i.  46;  churches,  i.  60;  Peabody  residence,  i.  63-66;  bar-room,  i.  89; 
Goodrich  letters,  i.  131,  137-139,  142,  146,. 150,  151,  157,  158;  Pierce 
interview,  i.  155;  literati,  i.  161-163,  167;  Hawthorne's  visit,  i.  185; 
custom-house,  i.  195,  196,  199,  200;  letters,  i.  202-204,  206-223; 
Braman's  Baths,  i.  220;  Hawthorne  carrying  milk  to,  i.  233;  Mrs. 
Ripley,  i.236;  letter,  i.  239,  240;  Athenaeum,  i.  239;  West  St.,  i.  242; 
letters,  i.  267,  268;  cook's  visit,  i.  273;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's,  i.  288; 
temporary  residence,  i.  309  ?  Hawthorne's  second  child,  i.  309;  ex 
pense,  i.  310:  scarlet  fever,  i.  344;  Hillard's  kindness,  i.  354,  355; 
Mrs.  Hawthorne  coming,  i.  438;  Hillard's  letter,  i.  448;  letter  from 
Mrs.  Peabody,  i.  449;  from  a  boy,  i.  450;  highway  from  Concord, 
i.  451;  Louisa  Hawthorne  in,  i.  453;  Melville's  letter,  i.  474,  475; 
intended  sojourn,  ii.  13;  harbor,  ii.  14-16  ;  return  from  Europe,  ii.  261; 
social  attractions,  ii.  275,  276  ;  Old  Salt  House,  Long  Wharf,  ii.  299; 
consultation  with  Holmes,  ii.  337-339;  in  transit,  ii.  342,  344. 

Boston  Post,  notice  of  Hawthorne,  i.  140,  233. 

Botta,  Amelie,  letter,  i.  442,  443. 

Boulogne,  France,  Hawthorne  family  in,  i.  9. 

Bowditch,  Captain  William:  executor,  i.  28;  connection  with  Hawthorne 
family,  i.  29. 

Bowditch,  Charles  S.  and  J.  J.,  i.  450. 

Bowdoin  College:  Hawthorne's  education,  i.  96;  entrance,  i.  105;  life, 
i.  109-120,  145;  Commencement,  i.  148;  memories,  ii.  211. 

Bowman,  Mr.,  hospitality,  ii.  105. 

Boyd,  Sam,  boon-companion,  i.  145. 

Boyle,  Dr.,  anecdote,  i.  77. 

Bradamante,  allusion,  i.  463. 

Bradburn,  George,  magazine,  i.  381,  382. 

Bradbury  &  Evans,  literary  proposals,  ii.  233-235. 

Bradbury,  Mr.,  old  acquaintance  of  Hawthorne,  i.  163. 

Braddon,  Mary  Elizabeth,  allusion,  ii.  141. 

Bradford,  George:  Brook  Farm,  i.  232,  235;  boarder, i.  255;  Fourierism, 
i.  268;  Hawthorne's  remark  about  conscience,  ii.  43;  Chester,  ii.  57; 
opinion  of  a  seaside  place,  ii.  317. 

Bradstreet,  Jane,  first  wife  of  John  Manning,  i.  37. 

Braganza  Family,  blood,  ii.  96,  97. 

Braman's  Baths,  Boston,  i.  220. 

Brattleboro,  Vt.,  visits,  i.  66,  67;  ii.  52. 

Brazil :  property,  ii.  41 ;  emperor,  ii.  328. 


INDEX.  395 

Bremer,  Frederika:  visit,  i.  356;  in  Rome,  ii.  188. 

Bridge,  Horatio :  college  friendship,  i.  119, 120, 131 ;  letters  to  Hawthorne, 
i.  133-137,  138-144, 146-150 ;  boon-companion,  i.  145  ;  on  Hawthorne's 
early  stories,  i.  151, 152;  on  South  Sea,  i.  152,  153,  156-158.  161-164; 
precarious  position,  i.  194;  visits  to  Concord,  i.  281-283;  letter  from 
Hawthorne  about  Pierce,  i.  463;  allusion,  i.  475;  Hawthorne's  letter 
about  the  War,  ii.  276,  277.  (See  Letters.) 

Brigands,  Italian,  ii.  175.     (See  Italy,  Robbers,  etc.) 

Bright,  Henry  A. :  review  of  De  Quincey,  ii.  10,  23,  24;  friendship  for 
Hawthorne,  ii.  21r27,  34;  excursions,  ii.  33;  book  from  Hawthorne, 
ii.  36;  account  of  masquerade,  ii.  38;  trip  to  Wales,  ii.  57;  a  note 
from  Hawthorne,  ii.  65;  launch,  ii.  68;  Christmas  poem,  ii.  77-80; 
daughter  Annie,  ii.  104,  357;  courtesy  to  Melville,  ii.  135;  interest 
in  the  treatment  of  seamen,  ii.  151,  152,  226-228;  Hawthorne's 
journals  confided  to,  ii.  168,  169;  reception  of  Hawthorne,  ii.  222,  223; 
letter  to  Hawthorne,  ii.  228-230;  Rugby  days,  ii.  236;  on  Marble 
Faun,  ii.  239-244;  letters,  ii.  254,  255;  photograph  story,  ii.  257,  258; 
at  Cambridge,  ii.  259,  260;  letters  about  the  Southern  Rebellion, 
ii.  276-281,  290,  295,  296;  marriage,  ii.  295;  Hawthorne's  death, 
ii.  349-351.  (See  Letters  and  Liverpool.) 

Bristol,  Eng.,  Hawthorne  family,  i.  9. 

British  Empire,  allusion,  i.  387.     (See  England.) 

British  Minister,  interference,  ii.  151-163. 

British  Museum :  visit,  ii.  107,  121 ;  lodgings  opposite,  ii.  150. 

Bronte,  Charlotte,  home,  ii.  167,  168. 

Brook  Farm:  Hawthorne's  connection,  i.  200,  201,  227-237;  Blithedale 
Romance,  i.  431,  458 ;  memories,  i.  460,  ii.  123. 

Brown,  John,  raid,  ii.  263. 

Brown,  Miss,  governess,  ii.  137. 

Brown,  Mr.,  postmaster,  i.  284. 

Browne,  Mr.,  free  library,  ii.  138. 

Browne,  Mrs.,  landlady's  account  of  the  Byrons,  ii.  138-141. 

Browning,  Robert  and  Elizabeth  Barrett:  interest  in  Spiritualism,  i.  30, 
31,  ii.  129;  friendship,  ii.  190,  191;  tower  in  Aurora  Leigh,  ii.  198; 
"all  sorts,"  ii.  331;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  last  meeting,  ii.  354;  deci 
phering  Hawthorne's  manuscript,  ii.  372. 

Bruce,  Captain,  ii.  279. 

Brunswick,  Me.:  letters,  i.  109-119;  Uncle  Dike's  visit,  i.  122;  Com 
mencement,  i.  148.  (See  Bowdoin.) 

Bryant,  William  Cullen,  in  Rome,  ii.  188. 

Buchanan,  James,  presidency,  ii.  292,  293. 

Bull,  Ephraim,  Concord  grape,  i.  469. 


396  INDEX. 

Bull,  Mary  Ellen,  pupil  in  drawing,  ii.  284. 

Bull  Run,  battle,  ii.  282. 

Bunker  Hill:  Thomas  Hunt  in  the  battle,  i.  46;  walk,  i.  204;  simile, 

ii.  32. 

Bunny,  Twenty  Days  with,  i.  410-426.     (See  Lenox.) 
Buonarotti,   Michael  Angelo:    frescos,  i.  279,  370;  statue  of  Lorenzo, 

ii.  196;  compared  with  Powers,  ii.  197. 
Burchmore,  Captain,  story,  i.  495. 
Burchmore,  head  clerk,  ii.  383. 
Burley,  Miss:  praise  of  Ilawthofne,  i.  167;   advice  about  Mr.  Upham, 

i.  338,  339. 

Burlingame,  Anson,  foolishness  about  war  matters,  ii.  292. 
Burnham,  Colonel,  war  experiences,  ii.  319,  320. 
Burns,  Robert :  compared  with  Hawthorne,  i.  121;  from  Scotland,  i.  391; 

two  sons,  ii.  29,  34,  35. 
Burril,  Mr.,  artist,  i.  315. 

Butler,  General  B.  F.,  representative  of  barbarism,  ii.  312. 
Butler,  Luther :  Lenox  neighbor,  i.  362,  371,  416 ;  his  boy,  i.  414. 
Buttrick,  General,  rescuing  the  drowned  girl,  i.  296-303. 
Byron,  Lord:   Hawthorne  compared  with,  i.  178;   good  weather,  i.  434; 

income,  i.  435;   self-interest,  i.  497;   family  relations  and  homestead 

changes,  ii.  138-141 ;  Pool,  ii.  259. 


CABOT,  MR.,  contributions,  i.  382. 
Caesars,  Palace  of  the,  Rome,  ii.  204. 
Calabria,  Italy,  description,  i.  316,  317. 
California:  climate,  i.  434;  proposed  trip,  ii.  384. 
Calvinism:   cramping  Hawthorne,  i.  4;  charges,  i.   60;   in  Liverpool, 

ii.  41.     (See  Puritanism,  Religion.) 
Camberling,  Mr.,  allusion,  j.  153,  155. 
Cambridge,  Duke  of,  review,  ii.  107,  108. 
Cambridge,  Eng. :  Bright's  acquaintance,  ii.  24,  222,  255;  Hawthorne's 

visit,  ii.  255-261  passim. 
Cambridge,  Mass. :  approval  of  Hawthorne's  Tales,  i.  151 ;  literati,  i.  161 ; 

East,  i.  206;  law-student,  i.  221;   Thoreau,  i.  292;   Lowell's  letter, 

i.  390-392 ;  Julian  Hawthorne  at  college,  ii.  331,  344. 
Cammann,  Fanny,  letter,  ii.  357. 
Campbell,  John  and  William,  portraits,  ii.  31,  32. 
Canada,  settlers,  i.  20. 
Candy,  in  story,  i.  494. 
Canterbury,  Eng.,  visit,  ii.  260. 


INDEX.  397 

Capitol,  Rome:  sculptures,  ii.  184;  Hill,  ii.  196;  Faun,  ii.  255.  (See 
Sculpture.) 

Capuchin  Church,  Rome,  ii.  183,  184. 

Cardinal,  nickname,  i.  453. 

Cards:  Hawthorne  playing,  i.  109,  120;  Bridge's  refusal,  i.  136;  at  Mrs. 
Blodgett's,  ii.  74,  75;  Roman  pastime,  ii.  205-208. 

Care,  effect  on  the  mind,  i.  497. 

Carlisle,  Lord,  on  Channing,  ii.  351. 

Carlton,  Miss,  opinion  of  portrait,  i.  229,  230. 

Carlyle,  Thomas:  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  admiration,  i.  187;  Emerson's  re 
view,  i.  256 ;  and  visit,  ii.  123. 

Carnival,  Roman,  ii.  170-181,  203,  211,  212. 

Carter,  Robert,  analysis  of  Wonder-Book,  i.  470-474. 

Cartwright,  Colonel,  his  colonial  knowledge,  i.  14. 

Caryatides,  allusion,  i.  370. 

Cass,  Lewis,  Secretary  of  State,  ii.  152-163.     (See  Letters,  Seamen.) 

Castle  Dismal,  Salem,  i.  295,  314. 

Cathedrals,  English  and  Italian,  ii.  177, 178.   (See  Rome,  St.  Peter's,  etc.) 

Cats:  Manx,  ii.  49,  50;  Lisbon  anecdote,  ii.  87.     (See  Beelzebub.) 

Catskill  Mountains,  i.  421. 

Cava,  Italy,  i.  316. 

Cecil,  Henry,  versification  of  Hawthorne's  story,  ii.  10,  11,  51. 

Ceres,  temple,  i.  317. 

Cervantes,  translation  of  his  Tales,  i.  390,  440. 

Chancellor  (David  Roberts),  i.  453. 

Channing,  Dr.  Walter,  treatment  of  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  i.  63. 

Channing,  Dr.  William  Ellery:  a  London  admirer,  ii.  121;  sin  abashed 
in  his  presence,  ii.  351. 

Channing,  William  Ellery,  the  poet:  influence  of  Mrs.  Hawthorne,!.  64; 
Concord  neighbor,  i.  245;  wife,  proposed  home  with  Hawthorne, 
i.  251-256;  brighter,  i.  272,  273;, return  to  Concord,  i.  292;  sale  of 
poetry,  i.  293;  drowned  girl,  i.  296-303,  361;  in  Italy,  i.  322;  call, 
i.  323,  324;  letters,  i.  432-435;  advice  about  education,  ii.  264,  267. 
(See  Letters.) 

Channing,  William  Henry:  opinion  of  Fourier,  i.  267,  268;  Liverpool 
pastorate,  ii.  22,  62;  Hawthorne's  friend,  ii.  80;  preaching,  ii.  ]03; 
letter,  wife,  ii.  132,  133;  letter  and  journeys,  ii.  167,  168;  War 
lectures,  ii.  281;  lecture  at  Royal  Institution,  ii.  353-355.  (See 
Letters.) 

Chapman  &  Hall,  publishers,  ii.  2. 

Character:  self-modification,  i.  2;  divorced  from  intellect,  i.  42. 

Charles  the  Second:  defied,  i.  12;  references  in  Nadhorth  letter,  i.  13-24. 


398  INDEX. 

Charybdis,  allusion,  i.  120. 

Chase,  Lydia,  and  Miss  Bremer,  i.  356. 

Chatworth,  Mary,  Byron's  love,  ii.  140,  141. 

Cheever,  Dr.  George  B.,  his  critic-ism  feared,  i.  145. 

Chemistry,  a  boy's  interest,  ii.  53. 

Cheney,  Mr.,  message,  i.  310. 

Chester,  Eng.:  Ticknor's  visit,  ii.  26;  Hawthorne's  trip,  ii.  57,  135. 

Children:   numerous  in  the  Peabody   family,  i.  44  (see  Manning  and 

Hawthorne  families) ;   concealed   feelings,    i.    50;   half-grown   boys, 

i.  94;    parental   relations,    i.    378-380;    Hawthorne's   attractiveness, 

i.  450;  their  eyes,  in  story,  i.  496;  fondness  of  a  waif  for  Hawthorne, 

ii.  104,  105. 

China,  consulate  proposed,  i.  284,  285. 
Chorley,  Henry:  praise  of  Hawthorne,   i.  359;   review  of  Longfellow, 

ii.  77;   Hawthorne's  first  interview,  ii.  223,  224;  on  Marble  Faun, 

ii.  244-248.     (See  Letters.) 
Christ:   temptation,   i.  3;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  likeness,  i.  61;  prisoners, 

i.  188;  non-resistance  anecdote,  i.  367,  368;  ruins  soon  after  his  era, 

ii.  129;    in  art,   ii.  184,  194,  195;   Life  and  Portrait,  ii.  289.     (See 

Religion,  etc.) 
Christianity:  connection  with  purity,  i.  42;  liberal  interpretation,  i.  44; 

genuine,  i.  258;  in  America,  ii.  61.     (See  Religion.) 
Christians:  early,  i.  228  ;  ideal  woman,  i.  258;  Hawthorne  a  consistent, 

i.  266.     (See  Church,  Religion,  etc.) 
Christmas:  allusion,  i.  146;    fruit  dinner,  i.  274;  festivals,  i.  295;  at 

Mrs.  Blodgett's,  ii.  77-80;  allusion,  ii.  336. 
Christopher's  Island,  French  conquest,  i.  19. 
Church:  Hawthorne's  dissatisfaction,  i.  291;  non-attendance,  ii.  22,  62, 

79.     (See  Religion,  Roman  Catholicism.) 
Church  Keview,  attacks  Hawthorne,  i.  243. 
Cilley,  Jonathan:  college  friendship,  i.  131;  wager,  i.  143-145, 147-149; 

aid  about  South  Sea  Expedition,  i.  152, 157;  duel,  i.  173-175;  Memoir, 

i.  176.     (See  Letters.) 
City,  devouring  the  country,  i.  488. 
Civita  Vecchia,  Italy,  in  transit,  ii.  175,  214-216. 
Clark  &  Edson,  publishers,  i.  133. 
Clarke,   James   Freeman:  Hawthorne's  wedding  and    funeral,  i.   242, 

ii.  347;  a  sister,  ii.  59. 

Clarke,  Mr.,  meanness  about  a  picture,  i.  65,  66. 
Clarke,  Sarah,  visit,  ii.  59,  60. 
Clark,   S.   Gaylord:    on  Hawthorne's  early  stories,  i.  133;    flattering 

letter,  i.  141. 


INDEX.  399 

Clark,  W.  G.,  Trinity  College,  ii.  259. 

Cleveland  Family,  friendship  with  the  Hawthorne  family,  i.  229,  232. 

Clewer,  Eng.,  sisterhood,  ii.  374. 

Clifton  Villa,  poor  board,  ii.  125-128.     (See  Hotels.) 

Clongh,  Arthur  H.,  satirical  quotation,  ii.  25. 

Coin,  anecdote,  i.  126,  127. 

Cold,  severe,  i.  274,  275. 

Coldness,  effect  on  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  i.  69. 

Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor :  reading,  i.  189 ;  Christabel,  ii.  20 ;  lakes,  ii.  65. 

Coliseum,  Rome,  .allusion,  ii.  177. 

College:  life-epitome,  i.  119;  ten  years  after,  i.  165;  talked  over,  ii.  211. 
(See  Botvdoin,  Bridge,  etc.) 

Colonies,  American:  royal  antagonism,  i.  12;  references  in  Nad horth 
letter,  i.  13-24. 

Colton,  Rev.  Mr.,  chaplain  of  Polar  Expedition,  i.  1G2. 

Columbus,  a  new,  i.  367. 

Combe,  George,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  interest,  i.  79. 

Comet:  Donati's,  i.  30,  ii.  170-202  (Ch.  V.);  description,  ii.  198,  199. 

Commission,  king's,  references  in  Nadhorth  letter,  i.  13-24. 

Commonwealth,  The,  editorship,  i.  471. 

Communism,  i.  267-269. 

Como,  Lake,  pictures,  i.  369. 

Comte,  August,  views,  ii.  25. 

Concord,  Mass.:  first  abode,  i.  201;  anticipations,  i.  219;  invitation, 
i.221;  garden,  i.  239;  Hawthorne's  funeral,  i.  242;  life  in  The  Old 
Manse,  i.  243-303;  celebrities,  i.  288;  Channing's  return,  i.  292;  Up- 
ham's  visit,  i.  294;  bills,  i.  295;  four  years,  i.  304;  Una's  birth, 
i.  305;  family  journal  begun,  i.  324;  drowned  girl,  i.  361;  Emerson 
letter,  i.  381,  382;  house  refitted,  i.  429,  432;  letter  from  Channing, 
i.  432-435;  Alcott's  house,  i.  434,  435;  Hawthorne's  second  residence, 
Wayside,  i.  436-487;  Grape,  i.  469  ;  return  in  1860,  ii.  8, 11;  allusions, 
ii.  12;  leaving  for  Europe,  ii.  14;  Mr.  Bright,  ii.  21;  Library,  ii.  183; 
last  abiding-place  of  Hawthorne,  ii.  262-353  passim  ;  summer  heat, 
ii.  262;  Sanborn  school,  ii.  263-267;  society,  ii.  267,  321,  322,  335; 
swimming  the  river,  ii.  282  ;  Beginning  of  the  End  (Ch.  IX.),  ii.  300- 
333  passim;  return  from  Washington,  ii.  314;  back  from  Maine, 
ii.  321;  in  War-time,  ii.  325-327;  health  requires  Hawthorne's  ab 
sence,  ii.  344;  Hawthorne's  burial,  ii.  347. 

Congress,  United  States:  Cilley's  candidacy,  i.  143;  Proceedings,  ii.  19; 
consulate  law,  ii.  64;  treatment  of  sailors,  ii.  226,  227;  allusions,  ii. 
381,  384. 

Coniston,  Eng.,  Bright's  letter,  ii.  23-26. 


400  INDEX. 

Conolly,  Mr.,  tedious  call,  i.  221. 

Constantinople,  Melville  en  route  for,  ii.  134-136. 

Consulates:  Liverpool,  i.  284,  344,  474,  ii.  1-39 passim ;  daily  life,  ii.  19- 
23 ;  new  laws,  ii.  64,  65 ;  proposed  resignation,  ii.  66,  67 ;  Haw 
thorne's  severity,  ii.  75;  jollity,  ii.  77-80;  pence  given  to  Julian, 
ii.  103;  burglary,  ii.  137;  Hawthorne's  resignation,  ii.  151-166 pas 
sim;  French  consul  in  Italy,  ii.  215;  Lyons,  ii.  217;  Marseilles, 
ii.  218  ;  Wilding's  office,  ii.  297. 

Continent,  The:  plans  for  travel,  ii.  102,  150;  an  adventurer,  ii.  130; 
tongues,  ii.  146;  journals,  ii.  219;  Hawthorne  outside  of  society, 
ii.  220-222.  (See  Europe,  Italy,  etc.) 

Conventionality:  disappearance,  i.  186;  reserve,  ii.  58. 

Conway,  Wales:  trip,  ii.  57;  Castle,  ii.  59. 

Corinth,  Venus  of,  ii.  279. 

Cornhill  Magazine,  contributors,  ii.  260. 

Correggio:  his  Madonna,  i.  368;  failure,  ii.  142. 

Corso,  The,  Rome,  ii.  180,  181,  203,  211. 

Corwin,  Mr.,  walk,  i.  495. 

Coventry,  Eng.,  visits,  ii.  148,  149,  231. 

Craig,  Mrs.  M.,  De  Quincey's  daughter,  ii.  6-8. 

Crampton,  Mr.,  ambassador,  ii.  17. 

Cranch,  Christopher  P.,  in  Italy,  i.  322. 

Crawford,  Thomas,  sculpture,  i.  367. 

Crewe  Hall,  Lord  Houghton's  home,  ii.  58. 

Cricket-match,  ii.  54-56. 

Crimean  War,  ii.  15,  37,  107,  108. 

Cromwell,  Oliver:  speech,  i.  12;  portrait,  ii.  259. 

Crosland,  Mrs.  Newton,  interview,  ii.  106,  126. 

Crowninshield,  John,  marriage  to  Sarah  Hawthorne,  i.  36. 

Cuba:  voyage  of  Mrs.  Hawthorne  and  sister,  i.  66;  anecdotes,  i.  71-74; 
Bridge's  letter,  i.  133,  134;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  letters,  i.  181;  climate, 
i.  434. 

Cummins,  Dr.,  i.  351. 

Curiosities  of  American  Literature,  ballad,  i.  95. 

Curtis,  George  A.,  letters,  i.  137,  138. 

Curtis,  George  William:  letter  from  Italy,  i.  314-322;  rescuing  the 
drowned  girl,  i.  361.  (See.  Letters.) 

Curwin,  Judge  Jonathan:  witchcraft,  i.  25;  house,  i.  392. 

Custom  House:  Hawthorne  in  Boston,  i.  195,  196,  199,  200,  201, 
206,  216,  230;  Salem,  i.  304-356;  loss  of  place,  i.  335  et  seq., 
ii.  379-385  (Appendix);  Seven  Gables,  i.  364;  allusion,  i.  388;  appoint 
ment  for  Stoddard,  i.  460-463. 


INDEX.  401 

DALLAS,  George  Mifflin:  ambassador,  ii.  105;  supper,  wife,  ii.  118. 
Dancing:  school,  i.  168;  Julian  Hawthorne's  fondness,  ii.  104. 

Danvers,  Mass.,  a  walk,  i.  209. 

Dargan,  William,  Ireland's  savior,  ii.  29. 

Dartmouth,  Eng.,  Manning  ancestry,  i.  36. 

Davis,  Jefferson,  allusion,  ii.  280. 

Davis,  Miss,  school,  i.  62. 

Death:  a  revelation,  i.  165;  abolished  by  love,  i.  249;  a  child's  idea, 
i.  342,  348;  hearing  death,  i.  352;  various  kinds,  majesty,  i.  488; 
at  sea,  despondency,  i.  490;  real  estate,  i.  491.  (See  Hawthorne, 
Reliyion,  etc.) 

Debt,  horror  of,  i.  287,  294,  295. 

Deception,  Hawthorne  charged  with,  i.  89,  90. 

Dedham,  Mass.,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  journal,  i.  75-81,  183. 

Deering,  Nat,  allusion,  i.  152. 

Degerando,  Joseph  Marie,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  study  of,  i.  63,  75,  77. 

Democratic  Party:  Hawthorne's  politics,  i.  125;  Cilley's,  i.  143;  custom 
house  in  Boston,  i.  196;  Salem,  ii.  380,  382. 

Democratic  Review:  list  of  Hawthorne's  contributions,  i.  176;  article 
on  Hawthorne,  i.  285. 

Deposition,  The,  Perugino's  picture,  ii.  194,  195. 

Depravity,  and  intellect,  i.  3. 

De  Quincey,  Thomas:  reading  aloud,  i.  376;  letters  from  daughters, 
ii.  4-8;  Puck,  works,  ii.  8;  estimate  of  Hawthorne,  ii.  9,  10;  Bright's 
review,  ii.  23,  24;  on  Miss  Martineau,  ii.  24;  Ticknor's  call,  daugh 
ters,  ii.  27.  (See  Letters.) 

Derby,  Earl  of,  interview,  ii.  138. 

Derby  Races,  ii.  222. 

Derbyshire,  Eng.,  cricket-match,  ii.  54-56. 

De  Stael,  Madame:  allusion,  i.  168;  Gray's  article,  ii.  25;  Corinne  com 
pared  with  Marble  Faun,  ii.  265. 

Devil:  in  witchcraft,  i.  25;  in  story,  i.  492,  496. 

Devonshire,  Channing's  trip,  ii.  167. 

Dexter,  Franklin,  art-critic,  i.  65. 

Dexter,  Samuel,  note  of  inquiry,  i.  163.     (See  Letters.) 

Dial,  The:  review  of  Carlyle,  i.  256  ;  read  by  Ireland,  ii.  123. 

Dickens,  Charles:  works  read  aloud,  i.  376;  the  original  of  Pecksniff, 
ii.  118;  school,  ii.  121;  books  taken  to  Washington  hospitals,  ii.  326. 

Dictionary:  Worcester's,  i.  100;  words,  i.  491. 

Dike  Family:  John  marries  Priscilla  Miriam  Manning,  5.  37;  Brunswick 
visit,  i.  124;  Madame  Hawthorne's  death,  i.  347,  350;  book  sent, 
i.  389;  friendliness,  i.  437;  Louisa  Hawthorne's  last  visit  and  death, 

VOL.  II.  26 


402  INDEX. 

i.  454,  456;   on  the  Pierce  Biography,   i.   465;    Salem   papers,   ii. 

327. 

Dionysius's  Ear,  an  inn  compared  to,  ii.  141. 
Disraeli,  Benjamin:  description,  ii.  120,  121;  speech,  ii.  223. 
Divining-rod,  of  golden  truth,  i.  488. 
Dixon,  Hepworth,  editorship,  ii.  224. 
Dollar  Magazine,  Hawthorne's  articles,  i.  404. 
Donati.     (See  Comet.) 
Dora:  watching,  i.  311;  with  children,  i.  323,  329,  343,  345;  marriage, 

i.  396. 

Dorchester,  settlement  of  Hawthorne  family,  i.  9,  10. 
Dore",  Gustave,  vision,  ii.  50. 
Doughty,  Thomas,  school  of  painting,  i.  64,  65. 
Douw,  Gerard,  minuteness,  ii.  193. 
Drawing:  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  study,  i.  62;  from  a  daguerreotype,  i.  285; 

Julian's  lessons,  ii.  2(56. 
Dreams:  clouds  and  birds,  i.  49;  Duke  of  Buckingham,  i.  76  ;  high 

thoughts,  i.  183,  184;  a  year's  sleep,  i.  205,  206;  made  real,  i.  287  ; 

divorce,  i.  326,  327;  story,  i.  488;  reporters,  i.  490  ;  of  nature,  i.  498- 

505;  Dr.  Peabody's,  of  Hawthorne,  ii.  53. 
Dresden :  the  Bb'tta  letter,  i.  442,  443  ;  the  Hawthorne  family  residence, 

ii.  353,  357,  373. 
Dress:  Hawthorne's  dislikes,  i.  311;  English  fashions,  ii.  70;  Court  of 

Lisbon,  ii.  88,  92,  95,  96  ;  Miss  Lander's,  ii.  182;  antique,  ii.  223. 
Dressing-gown,  anecdote,  i.  307,  308. 
Drowning  :  Concord  incident,  i.  296-303;  at  Rhyll,  ii.  59. 
Drugs,  injury  to  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  i.  47,  63,  64. 
Druids,  antiquity,  ii.  50,  112. 
Drummer,  Joe,  boon-companion,  i.  145. 
Drummond,  Mr.,  curious  story,  ii.  112-114. 
Drunkenness:  transmissible,  i.  2  ;  Hawthorne  not  to  be  charged  with, 

i.  85-91.     (See  Table,  Wine.) 
Dublin,  Ireland,  allusion,  ii.  49. 
Du  Chaillu,  Paul,  the  hunter,  ii.  279,  295. 
Dudley,  Mr.,  consul  at  Liverpool,  ii.  152. 
Duelling  :   Hawthorne  involved,   and  Cilley,   i.   172-174  ;  imaginary, 

ii.  45,  46. 

Dunker,  Chevalier,  a  Berlin  publisher,  i.  442. 
Durham,  Joseph,  sculptor,  ii.  128. 
Dutch,  The:  Colonial  relations,  i.  14,  15,  20;  school  of  painting,  ii.  142, 

193.     (See  Art,  Painters,  etc.) 
Duyckinck,  Evart  Augustus  :  article,  i.  285;  call,  i.  419. 


INDEX.  403 

EAMES,  MR.,  Salem  teacher,  i.  62. 
Earle,  John,  a  Boston  tailor,  messages  from  Hawthorne,  i.  137,  309. 

Earthquake  in  Lisbon,  ii.  82. 

East,  The,  possible  journey,  i.  185. 

East  Indies,  fortunes  lost,  ii.  141. 

Eaton  Hall,  Eng.,  trip,  ii.  57. 

Eccentricity,  in  Hawthorne  family,  i.  5. 

Echo:  God's  voice,  i.  374;  in  Old  Man  Mountain,  Mass.,  ii.  26. 

Edes,  Mrs.,  wedding-cake,  i.  127. 

Edinburgh,  Scotland:  De  Quincey  in,  ii.  6,  7;  Hawthorne's  trip,  ii.  141. 

Edinburgh  Review:  Gray's  article,  ii.  25 ;  Fathers  of  New  England,  ii.  234. 

Editorship,  Hawthorne's,  i.  135,  146,  149,  151,  164. 

Education:  Society,  i.  116;  Mann's  ideas,  i.  275,  276;  American  pre 
ferred,  ii.  200;  of  Hawthorne's  children,  ii.  266,  267. 

Edward  the  Fourth,  relics,  ii.  231. 

Egypt:  mummy  simile,  i.  392  ;  seeds  from  Pyramids,  i.  405. 

Ehninger,  John  W.,  illustration  of  Scarlet  Letter,  i.  374,  375. 

Ellsler,  Fanny,  dancing,  i.  321. 

Ellsworth,  Me.,  visit,  ii.  219. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo:  loftiness,  i..  186;  pure  tone,  i.  187  ;  invitation, 
i.  221  ;  chat,  i.  239;  neighbor,  i.  245;  on  Carlyle,  i.  256  ;  estimate 
of  Hawthorne,  i.  270,  271;  advice,  i.  287;  walk  and  associates,  i.  290- 
293  ;  call,  i.  311;  poems,  i.  322;  atmosphere,  i.  323,  324;  letter  about 
contributions,  i.  381,  382;  on  Seven  Gables,  i.  394;  absence,  i.  433  ; 
home,  i.  451  ;  introduces  Bright,  ii.  21;  London  admirers,  ii.  121, 
123:  his  home  a  literary  centre,  ii.  267;  club-member,  ii.  276  ;  wife, 
ii.  286;  pall-bearer,  ii.  348.  (See  Concord,  Letters.) 

Employments,  certain  absurd,  i.  491. 

Enchanted  Hall,  allusion,  i.  463. 

Endymion,  allusion,  i.  279. 

England:  origin  of  Hawthorne  family,  i.  7-9;  colonists  ordered  to,  i.  12, 
13  ;  references  in  Nadhorth  letter,  i.  13-24;  war  with  colonies,  i.  29; 
North,  i.  44  ;  Bennoch's  companionship,  i.  86,  87  ;  literary  contribu 
tions,  i.  159;  nobleman's  marriage  thwarted,  i.  169  ;  advancing  mind, 
i.  249;  the  Fuller  stories,  i.  321 ;  Hawthorne's  first  success,  i.  357, 
ii.  2  ;  Julian's  ship,  i.  366,  367  ;  allusions,  i.  386  ;  intellectual  soil, 
i.  405;  Hawthorne's  incessant  travel,  i.  429  ;  his  admirers,  i.  440  ;  ap 
pearance  of  Scarlet  Letter,  i.  442  ;  return  in  1860,  i.  451,  468 ;  First 
Months  (Ch.  I.),  ii.  1.-3S  passim ;  Hawthorne's  journals,  ii.  3;  cli 
mate,  friends,  ii.  4,  10;  special  traits,  ii.  21;  weather,  ii.  32,  100; 
hospitality,  ii.  33,  35 ;  Church  of,  ii.  40,  41;  Lakes  to  London  (Ch.  II.), 
ii.  40-73 passim;  Channel  sights,  ii.  49-52;  class  distinctions,  ii.  55  ; 


404     .  INDEX. 

orthoepy,  ii.  56,  57  ;  reserve,  ii.  57,  58 ;  winter,  ii.  59,  231,  232  ; 
churches,  ii.  61;  climate  and  trees,  ii.  63, 64,  66  ;  residence  and  travel, 
ii.  74-80  passim ;  deadness  of  the  people,  ii.  74;  scarcity  of  pretty 
women,  ii.  76;  war  with  America  deplored,  ii.  83,  102;  Hawthorne's 
liking  for,  ii.  101,  102  ;  trip  in  the  North,  ii.  122  ;  Conservatives 
and  Liberals,  ii.  123;  Eighteen  Months  Before  Rome  (Ch.  IV.),  ii.  125- 
169;  boarding-houses,  ii.  125-127;  thieves,  ii.  137;  navy,  ii.  158; 
ports,  ii.  160  ;  seamen  question,  ii.  151-163 passim;  humorous  predic 
tion,  ii.  168;  Hawthorne's  attitude,  ii.  169,  170  ;  cathedrals,  ii.  177  ; 
northeast  coast,  ii.  199  ;  copyright,  ii.  200;  last  sojourn,  ii.  219-261 
passim ;  moral  and  social  atmosphere,  ii.  219-222 ;  welcome  back, 
ii.  222-224;  Hawthorne's  health  better,  ii.  228;  bad  air,  ii.  242; 
tone  of  reviews  of  Marble  Faun,  ii.  253 ;  relations  to  America  during 
the  Rebellion,  ii.  269-329  passim ;  women  defended  from  HaAvthorne's 
portrayal,  ii.  277-280,  305-308;  Great  Exhibition,  ii.  278,  279;  scene 
of  next  romance,  ii.  301,  302;  fruit  and  oysters,  ii.  305,  307;  games, 
ii.  307;  people  first  seen  by  Hawthorne's  eyes,  ii.  324,  325;  blunders 
in  war,  ii.  328  ;  news  of  Hawthorne's  death,  ii.  349-351;  Hawthorne's 
posthumous  books,  ii.  374. 

English  Language  :  Mrs.  Peabody's  translations,  i.  263  ;  misuse,  ii.  56, 
57,  69,  70  ;  talked  in  Portugal,  ii.  92  ;  in  Rome,  ii.  178  ;  Hawthorne's 
mastery,  ii.  252,  304. 

Epic  Poem,  Mrs.  Hawthorne  an,  i.  208. 

Epithalamion  on  the  Hawthornes,  i.  246. 

Ericsson,  John,  caloric  ships,  ii.  12. 

Espriella's  Letters,  quotation,  i.  108. 

Essex  County:  a  will,  i.  26-28;  in  the  War,  ii.  327. 

Essex  Institute,  its  Fair  paper,  ii.  314. 

Essex  Register,  on  Hawthorne's  removal  from  custom-house,  ii.  380. 

Este,  Mr.,  allusion,  i.  434. 

Esterbrook,  Dr.,  ii.  287. 

Eternity,  intimacy  in,  i.  203. 

Euganean  Hills,  climate,  i.  435. 

Europe:  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  proposed  art-trip,  i.  65;  jest,  i.  235;  oldest 
ruins,  i.  317;  famous  gymnasts,  i.  321;  atmosphere,  i.  331;  travellers, 
i.  388;  dislike  of,  i.  434;  politics,  i.  436;  glimpse,  i.  464;  Webster's 
greatness,  i.  480;  First  Months  in  England  (Ch.  I.),  i.  1-39;  Russian 
spies,  ii.  37;  interest  in  Victoria's  marriage,  ii.  75;  gray  antiquity, 
ii.  174;  hope  of  return,  ii.  200;  allusion,  ii.  206;  ruins  and  buildings 
appreciated,  ii.  221;  Hawthorne's  reputation,  ii.  235;  relations  to 
Southern  Rebellion,  ii.  293-299  passim;  public  buildings  compared 
with  those  at  Washington,  ii.  310.  (See  England,  France,  etc.) 


INDEX.          .  405 

Evangeline,  poem  reviewed,  i.  323.     (See  Longfellow .) 

Evans  Rooms,  London,  supper  and  superintendent,  ii.  121. 

Eve:  allusion,  i.  126;  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  i.  225.     (See  Adam,  Paradise.) 

Eveleth,  Mr.,  old  acquaintance,  i.  163. 

Everett,  Alexander  H.,  allusion,  i.  156,  284. 

Everett,  Edward,  allusion,  i.  339. 

Examiner,  The :  on  Marble  Faun,  ii.  240 ;  on  Our  Old  Home,  ii.  280. 

Exhibitions,  Great  English,  ii.  278.     (See  Manchester.) 


FACE,  compared  with  hand,  i.  497. 
Fairfield,  Governor,  letter,  i.  309. 

Farley,  Mr.,  allusion,  i.  234. 

Fast  Day,  i.  231. 

Faucit,  Helen,  visit,  ii.  116. 

Fawcett,  Rev.  Mr.,  his  Sermons  read,  i.  61. 

Fayal  Island,  climate,  i.  434. 

Felt's  Annals  of  Salem,  i.  11. 

Fencing,  study,  ii.  266. 

Fe'nelon,  Mrs.  Hawthorne  reading,  i.  77. 

Fernandez,  cleaning  picture  of,  i.  185. 

Fernando,  Dom,  regent  of  Portugal,  ii.  84-101  passim. 

Fessenden,  Ruth :  connection  with  the  Hunt  and  Peabody  families,  i.  46 ; 
interview,  i.  139. 

Fiction,  modern,  ii.  1.     (See  Haivthorne's  Works.) 

Fire,  lesson  in  making  a,  ii.  33,  34. 

Fishing,  Hawthorne's  amusement,  ii.  285. 

Flaxman,  John:  his  Outlines  acted,  i.  354;  Aria,  i.  381. 

Fleas,  in  Lisbon,  ii.  80- 

Flies,  impertinent,  i.  500. 

Flint,  John,  shooting  an  Indian,  i.  10. 

Florence,  Italy:  Spiritualist  experience,  i.  30;  Hawthorne's  restlessness, 
i.  429;  climate,  i.  434;  ten  days'  trip,  ii.  167,  188-190;  residence, 
ii.  190-201;  summer,  ii.  190;  buildings  and  streets,  ii.  191,  192,  197, 
198;  ideal  city,  ii.  192;  duke  at  St.  John's  Feast,  ii.  197;  haunted 
tower,  ii.  198;  neighboring  hills,  ii.  197-200;  notes  about  the  Bloody 
Footstep,  ii.  301. 

Flowers :  Hawthorne's  indifference,  i.  101 ;  Houstonias,  i.  187, 188 ;  Eliza 
beth  Hawthorne's  preferences,  i.  189;  incident,  i.  191-194;  simile, 
i.  211;  wild,  i.  232;  Mrs.  Hawthorne  a  lily,  i.288;  of  Paradise,  i.  289; 
Rosebud,  i.  394;  life,  i.  406;  in  vision,  i.  498-505  passim;  book, 
ii.29;  English  early,  ii.  36;  ballet,  ii.  81,  83;  violets,  ii.  88;  camellia 


406  INDEX. 

from  Hall,  ii.  117;  in  Carnival,  ii.  180;  snowdrops,  ii.  357;  Mrs. 
Hawthorne's  dying  words,  ii.  369,  370. 

Fog,  English,  ii.  232. 

Foibles,  Hawthorne's,  i.  4. 

Foote,  Mrs.,  letter  to,  i.  408. 

Folkestone,  Eng.,  in  transit,  ii.  169,  172. 

Fop,  a  manufactured,  i.  494. 

Forget-me-not,  painted,  i.  185,  188. 

Forrester  Family:  connection  with  the  Hawthornes,  i.  8;  anecdote,  i.  99, 
100;  genealogy,  i.  311. 

Forum,  Rome:  sculpture,  ii.  184;  allusion,  ii.  203. 

Fourier,  Charles :  criticisms,  i.  267-269 ;  loan  of  book,  i.  415 ;  followers, 
i.  504. 

Fourth  of  July,  a  quiet,  ii.  53. 

Fox,  John,  Book  of  Martyrs,  ii.  237. 

Fractions,  vulgar,  i.  493. 

France:  Hawthorne  descent,  i.  8;  Admiral  Hawthorne  at  Boulogne,  i. 9; 
colonial  relations,  i.  15,  19,  20;  classic  facts,  i.  62;  accident,  i.  72;  a 
planetary  omen,  i.  77;  corrupt,  i.  267;  Revolution,  i.  269,  489;  Fuller 
stories,  i.  321;  good  news  in  1848,  i.  331;  longing  for,  i.  429;  king's 
kitchen,  i.  494;  Hawthorne's  journals,  ii.  3;  departure  for,  ii.  151 ; 
visit,  ii.  173-176;  cold,  ii.  173,  176;  ambassador,  ii.  174;  troops  in 
Rome,  ii.  178,  181;  glimpse,  ii.  200;  style  of  dinner,  ii.  204;  art- 
gallery  in  London,  ii.278;  political  peace,  ii.  325;  war  with  Germany, 
ii.  353.  (See  Europe,  etc.) 

Franco,  Dr.,  ii.  206  et  seq. 

Frankenstein,  Hawthorne  a,  i.  84. 

French  Language:  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  study,  i.  62;  Bridge's  teacher, 
i.  163;  lessons  to  children,  i.  376;  talked  in  Portugal,  ii.  92;  Tenny 
son's  knowledge,  ii.  145,  146;  Julian  Hawthorne's  study,  ii.  266. 

Friendship:  Hawthorne's  stanch,  i.  91;  and  boarders,  i.  254;  finally 
false,  best  intimacy,  i.  491. 

Froude,  James  Anthony,  his  Nemesis  of  Faith,  ii.  25. 

Fruit:  Hawthorne's  liking,  i.  125;  dinner,  i.  274;  in  vision,  i.  498-505 
passim;  in  Florence,  ii.  198;  English  defended,  ii.  305,  307. 

Frystone,  Eng.,  Bright's  admiration,  ii.  229. 

Fuel,  cost  in  England,  ii.  31. 

Fuller,  Margaret:  calibre,  i.  168;  severe  criticism,  i.  245;  sister,  i.  251 ; 
boarding-question,  i.  252-206  ;  opinions  on  her  book,  i.  256-259  ;  mar 
riage  and  death,  i.  259-262;  her  History  of  Roman  Revolution,  i.  260; 
severe  portrait,  i.  261;  stories  of  Europe,  i.  321;  atmosphere,  i.  323; 
original  of  Zenobia,  i.  392 ;  Ireland's  interest,  ii.  123. 


INDEX.  407 


Fur  Company,  plans  of  Major  William  Hawthorne,  i.  10. 
Furniture,  Liverpool,  ii.  32. 


f^  ALILEO,  his  tower,  ii.  198. 

^J    Gait,  John,  contributor  to  Knickerbocker,  i.  133.  , 

Galway,  Lady,  interview,  ii.  256. 

Gannett,  Rev.  Mr.,  lecture,  i.  225. 

Gardner  (Gardiner)  Family:  Hawthorne's  connection  with,  i.  26,  27; 
visit,  i.  63,  69. 

Gaskell,  Elizabeth  C.,  projected  plot,  ii.  229. 

General  Court:  Major  William  Hawthorne  in,  i.  10;  references  in  Nad- 
horth  letter,  i.  13-24;  Judge  John  Hawthorne  in,  i.  25 ;  members,  i.  94. 

Geneva,  Switzerland,  visit,  ii.  216-219. 

Genius,  and  periodicals,  i.  125. 

Genoa,  Italy:  consulate,  i.  284;  in  transit,  ii.  175,  216;  churches,  ii.177. 

George  the  First,  story  of  the  raven,  i.  489. 

Germany:  physician  from,  ii.  98,  333;  landscape-painter,  ii.  187;  jour 
ney  after  Hawthorne's  death,  ii.  353. 

German  Language:  commended  as  a  diversion,  i.  165;  reading,  i.  185; 
study,  i.  192;  Mrs.  Peabody's  work,  i.  251;  translations,  i.  262,  263; 
translations  of  Hawthorne,  i,  442,  443;  in  Rome,  ii.  178. 

German  Ocean,  outlook,  ii.  226. 

Gerard,  Jules,  lion-tamer,  ii.  279. 

Ghosts,  a  poem,  i.  102,  103. 

Gibbon,  Edward,  study  of  his  History,  ii.  172. 

Gibraltar:  allusion,  i.  120;  gibraltars,  i.  127,  494;  consulate,  i.  284. 

Gibson,  John,  his  Venus,  ii.  279. 

Giddings,  Mary,  marries  Thomas  Manning,  i.  37. 

Giddings,  Susan,  friend  of  Hawthorne  family,  i.  234. 

Glendower,  Owen,  a  Peabod}'  ancestor,  i.  45. 

Gloucester,  Eng.,  visit,  ii.  126. 

Glyn,  Miss,  the  actress,  ii.  118,  119. 

God,  design  in  Tupper,  ii.  111.     (See  Religion,  etc.) 

Goethe,  Johann  Wolfgang,  quotation,  i.  406. 

Golden:  truth,  i.  488;  Rule,  i.  490;  talisman,  i.  497;  Age,  ii.  192. 

Goldsmith,  Oliver,  charm  of  his  story,  ii.  1,  2. 

Goodness,  and  success,  ii.  1. 

Goodrich,  Samuel  Griswold:  early  employment  of  Hawthorne,  i.  97; 
opinion,  i.  124;  about  certain  stories,  i.  131,  132;  trouble  with  Park 
Benjamin,  i.  136;  letter,  i.  138;  Bridge's  estimate,  i.  140-143,  147-149, 
151,  161,  162,  164;  business  letters,  i.  142,  146,  150,  157,  158. 


408  .INDEX. 

Gormandizing,  anecdote,  i.  72. 

Gospel,  dear  to  the  colonists,  i.  16.     (See  Christ,  Religion,  etc.) 

Graham's  Magazine,  i.  277. 

Gray,  William,  literary  work,  ii.  25. 

Greece:  grandeur,  i.  319,  320;  setting  of  Hawthorne's  tales,  i.  472. 

Grecian:  picture,  i.  295;  day,  i.  315. 

Greek  Language :  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  acquaintance,  i.  40;  Hawthorne's 

dislike,  i.  96 ;  Homer,  i.  167;  fables,  ii.  35;  Colonel  Wildman's  study, 

ii.  139;  Julian  Hawthorne's,  ii.  266. 

Green,  Superintendent,  compliments  a  few  great  Americans,  ii.  121. 
Greenfield,  Mass.,  letters,  ii.  272-275. 

Greenwich,  Eng.:  visit,  ii.  106;  Park,  ii.  128;  Fair,  ii.  181. 
Greenwood,  Grace:  in  England,  ii.  33;  her  language,  ii.  57. 
Grigg,  John,  dinner,  ii.  343. 

Griswold,  Rufus  Wilmot,  a  ballad  in  his  book,  i.  96. 
Grote,  George,  study  of  his  History,  ii.  172. 
Grub  Street,  allusion,  i.  490. 
Guernsey  Island,  ii.  50. 
Guido,  famous  picture,  ii.  142,  143. 

?  question  to  Hawthorne,  i.  121. 


TTALE,   BILL,  boon-companion,  i.  145. 

L    Halifax,  JST.  S.,  voyage  to,  ii.  16,  17. 
Hall,  Colonel,  his  kindness,  i.  220. 
Hall,  Sidney  Carter,  and  wife:   interviews,  ii.  116-120,  131;   on  Marble 

Faun,  ii.  248-250  ;  praise  of  Hawthorne,  ii.  305.     (See  Letters.) 
Hallowell,  Me.:  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  visit,  i.  63;  Hawthorne's  trip,  ii.  316. 
Hammond,  Lempriere,  his  courtesy,  ii.  255-261  passim. 
Hampton  Court,  Eng.,  ii.  106. 
Hancock,  Mass.,  the  Shakers,  i.  419,  420. 
Hardy,  Lady,  her  kindness,  ii.  359. 
Harmony  Grove,  Mass.,  visit,   i.  233. 
Harpers'  Weekly,  on  General  Butler,  ii.  312. 
Hartford,  Conn.:  letter,  i.  131,  132;  Litchfield  letter,  i.  393. 
Harvard  College:  A.  P.  Peabody,  i.  44;  John  Hunt,  i.  45. 
Hastings,  Eng.,  visits,  ii.  116,  374. 
Hastings,  Lady  Elizabeth,  compliment,  ii.  146. 
Haunted  Chamber,  Hawthorne's  vigil,  i.  125. 
Havannah,  W.  I.,  Bridge's  letter,  i.  133,  134. 
Haven  Family,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  visits,  i.  65,  74,  75,  77-79,  81. 
Haworth,  Eng.,  Channing's  visit,  ii.  167,  168. 


INDEX.  409 

Hawthorne  (Hathorne)  Family:  family  seat  in  Wiltshire,  Eng.,  i,  7,  8; 
de  1'Aubepine,  various  members  in  the  17th  Century  and  later,  differ 
ent  spelling,  i.  8;  coat-of-arms,  i.  8,  9;  Admiral  and  others,  i.  9;  Maine 
property,  i.  26;  the  Judge's  sons  and  grandsons,  i.  27,  28;  sons  of 
Farmer  Joseph,  i.  29,  30;  children  of  Bold  Daniel,  i.  36;  secrecy  of 
Nathaniel's  publications,  i.  124;  Hawthorne's  sisters  and  mother, 
i.  177-183;  individuality,  i.  182;  Herbert  St.  house,  i.  189;  attitude 
towards  Sophia  Peabody,  i.  217,  238-240;  Nathaniel's  visit,  i.  288; 
in  same  house  with  Nathaniel,  i.  305;  genealogical  tree,  i.  311; 
whooping-cough,  ii.  53,  54. 

Hawthorne,  Benjamin,  son  of  Judge  Hawthorne,  in  will,  i.  28. 

Hawthorne,  Daniel:  bold  exploits,  i.  29;  miniature,  i.  30;  Mary  Rondel 
incident,  i.  31-35  ;  marriage  with  Rachel  Phelps,  i.  36  ;  allusion,  i.  84; 
grandfather  of  Nathaniel,  i.  95,  122. 

Hawthorne,  Daniel,  son  of  Bold  Daniel,  his  death,  i.  36. 

Hawthorne,  Daniel,  second  son  of  Bold  Daniel,  i.  38. 

Hawthorne,  Ebenezer:  son  of  Judge  Hawthorne,  i.  27,  28;  small-pox, 
i.  29. 

Hawthorne,  Ebenezer,  collateral  branch  of  the  family,  i.  38. 

Hawthorne,  Captain  Nathaniel,  father  of  the  novelist:  effect  of  his 
loss  upon  his  widow,  i.  4,  5;  his  death,  i.  36,  98-100;  description, 
i.  182. 

Hawthorne,  Madame  (Elizabeth  Clarke  Manning),  mother  of  the  author: 
exaggerated  seclusion,  i.  4,  5,  177;  ancestry,  i.  36;  parentage,  i.  37; 
in  Maine  with  her  children,  i.  95;  return  to  Salem,  i.  96;  husband's 
death,  i.  98,  99  ;  letter  and  messages  from  her  son,  i.  106-111,  114,  115, 
118 ;  allusions,  i.  127, 178,  295,  329 ;  description,  i.  181, 182  ;  objection  to 
son's  wife,  i.  1 96-202 passim,  237;  worry  about  her  son's  work,  his  pic 
ture,  i.  229,  233-235;  health,  i.  293;  in  son's  house,  i.  304;  death,  i.  305; 
ill-health,  i.  308;  chamber,  i.  314;  final  illness,  i.  335,  338,  340-353. 

Hawthorne,  Elizabeth  M.,  eldest  sister  of  the  novelist :  understanding 
clear,  i.  5 ;  letter  to  Una,  i.  8  ;  about  Major  William,  i.  11  et  seq. ;  child 
hood  in  Maine,  i.  95;  details  about  her  brother,  i.  98-102;  literature, 
i.  106;  allusions,  i.  107-111,  115,  116;  letter  from  her  brother,  i.  117- 
119;  on  his  earl}"  authorship  and  secrecy,  i.  123-125;  sisterly  remem 
brances,  i.  127,  128;  letter  from  Elizabeth  Peabody,  i.  164-167;  early 
acquaintance  with  the  Peabodies,  i.  177-183 ;  seclusion,  pupil  of 
Elizabeth  Peabody,  i.  177;  tastes,  interview,  i.  189;  flower  incident, 
i.  191,  193,  194;  objection  to  her  brother's  marriage,  i.  196-202 passim, 
237-240;  a  Machiavelli,  i.  197;  invisible  by  day,  i.  204;  opinion  of 
Brook  Farm,  i.  229,  232;  on  a  picture  of  her  brother,  i.  230;  walk  to 
Marblehead,  i.  233,  235;  Aunt  Ebe,  i.  236;  health,  i.  293;  in  house 


410  INDEX. 

with  her  brother,  i.  305;  invisibility,  5.  314;  call  upon  her  brother, 
i.  326;  trouble  with  Una,  i.  328 ;  book,  i.  330,  332;  mother's  death,  i.  352, 
353;  translation  of  Cervantes,  i.  389,  390;  letter,  i.  409,  410;  queer 
habits,  i.  436;  in  Manchester,  Mass.,  i.  437;  Montserrat,  translations, 
i.  438-440;  sister's  death,  i.  456  on  the  Pierce  Life,i.  465,  466;  let 
ters  from  her  brother  about  his  European  plans,  ii.  101,  102;  note, 
ii.  314;  seclusion  and  interest  in  politics,  ii.  324,  325;  sense  and  humor, 
ii.  327-329;  letter,  ii.  335-337;  on  her  brother's  death,  ii.  348,  349; 
allusion,  ii.  379.  (See  Letters.) 

Hawthorne,  George,  a  Bristol  merchant,  i.  9. 

Hawthorne,  Judge  John:  Upham  on  the  witch-trial,  i.  9;  dialogue,  i.  24- 
26;  will,  i.  26-28;  sons  and  grandsons,  i.  27,  28. 

Hawthorne,  John,  son  of  Judge,  death  in  London,  i.  26,  27,  29. 

Hawthorne,  John,  grandson  of  Judge  Hawthorne,  in  will,  i.  27. 

Hawthorne,  Joseph:  in  father's  will,  i.  28;  family  name,  character, 
Farmer,  i.  29. 

Hawthorne,  Joseph :  son  of  Farmer  Joseph,  death,  i.  29. 

Hawthorne,  Julian,  son  of  Nathaniel :  family  papers,  i.  33 ;  Hawthorne's 
relation  of  experiences,  i.  101;  childish  regret  that  his  father  wrote 
books,  i.  244,  245 ;  allusion,  i.  305 ;  babyhood,  i.  310,  324 ;  remembrance 
of  dressing-gown,  i.  308;  grandmother's  room,  i.  314;  first  walk,  i.  323; 
remembrance  of  Snow  Image,  i.  330;  play,  i.  331 ;  traits,  i.  333,  334; 
grandma's  last  illness,  i.  342-352;  acting  Flaxman,  i.  354;  sledding, 
i.  362;  the  Apostate,  i.  363;  chair  anecdote,  i.  367,  368;  ship-making, 
i.  366;  papa's  thought,  i.  373,  374;  morning  experiences,  i.  375,  376; 
complimented  by  a  stranger,  i.  377,  378;  father's  sole  companion  for 
twenty  days,  i.  408-426 ;  growth,  i.  409;  visit  to  Shakers,  i.  419-421; 
secession  of  the  cats,  i.  430;  interview  with  Kossuth,  i.  430,431; 
tanned,  i.  437;  Aunt  Louisa's  death,  i.  456,  457;  admiration  for  the 
sumach,  i.  468;  baby  sister,  i.  469;  Melville's  salutations,  i.  475; 
childish  saving,  i.  493;  declamation  from  De  Quincey,  ii.  8;  baby 
friends,  ii.  10;  Dulan,  ii.  12;  welcome  to  papa,  ii.  13,  14;  food  in 
Liverpool,  ii.  18;  hours  in  the  consulate,  ii.19;  a  wounded  sailor,  ii. 
20,  21;  lunch,  church,  ii.  22;  a  gift,  ii.  29 ;  meals,  ii.  30;  masks,  ii.  37, 
38;  the  Quattlebum  myth,  ii.  44-47;  jaunts  in  the  Channel,  ii.  49-52; 
letter  to  grandfather,  ii.  53;  left  with  his  father,  ii.  54;  oak  and 
cauliflower,  ii.  63;  rambles  with  father,  ii.  71,  72;  letters  to  and  from 
mother,  ii.  80-101;  health,  ii.  102;  acquaintance  with  the  Archer 
family,  fondness  for  shells  and  society,  ii.  103,  104;  anxiety  to  meet 
his  father,  Scotch  trip  in  1857,  ii.  122 ;  trip  with  parents  and  sisters, 
ii.  125-132;  leaving  Liverpool  suddenly,  ii.  133;  riding-lessons,  ii. 
134;  interest  in  a  burglary,  ii.  137;  walks  with  father  to  Warwick, 


INDEX.  411 

etc.,  ii.  146-150;  Coventry  cabman,  ii.  148,  149;  measles,  ii.  150; 
studies  before  going  to  Rome,  ii.  172;  companionship  of  the  Thomp 
son  boys,  ii.  186,  212  -,  his  knowledge  of  Italian  a  protection  to  his 
father,  ii.  212,  213;  Marseilles  steamer,  ii.  215,216;  swimming, 
ii.  227;  letter  from  Bright,  ii.  257,  258;  allusion,  ii.  260;  at  Sanborn 
school,  ii.  264,  267;  training  in  languages  and  fencing,  ii.  266;  re 
membrance  of  his  father's  readings,  ii.  269 ;  grounded  in  native  his 
tory,  ii.  270;  too  young  for  war,  ii.  277;  injury  from  swimming,  and 
consequent  journey,  ii.  282-290;  no  letter  to  father,  ii.  311;  Maine 
excursion,  ii.  315-321;  going  to  college,  ii.  330;  reading  to  his  father, 
ii.  335;  last  interview,  ii.  345,  346;  hesitation  to  sum  up  his  father's 
character,  ii.  352;  to  Germany  with  mother  and  sisters,  ii.  353;  mar 
riage,  ii.  358;  mother's  last  wishes,  ii.  365,  366;  sister's  anxiety, 
ii.  367;  residence  in  Dresden  and  London,  ii.  373;  last  visit  to  Una, 
ii.  374. 

Hawthorne,  M.  Louisa,  youngest  sister  of  Nathaniel:  characteristics,  i.  5; 
childhood  in  Maine,  i.  96;  her  brother's  letters,  i.  105,  106,  109-115, 
126, 127;  allusion,  i.  107;  Newburyport  visit,  i.  118;  early  acquaint 
ance  with  the  Peabodies,  i.  178-183;  Sophia's  call,  i.  189 ;  her  brother's 
marriage,  i.  199,  201,  238-240;  letter  from  Ploughman,  i.  226-228; 
letters  about  Brook  Farm,  i.  229-236;  scolding,  i.  237;  helpful  words, 
i.  286;  health,  i.  293,  308  ;  complaint  of  silence,  i.  295 ;  watch,  i.  311; 
not  intrusive,  i.  314;  sewing,  i.  329  ;  mother's  death,  i.  347,  352,  353; 
brotherly  message,  i.  389;  letter  about  Rose,  etc.,  i.  395,  396;  frater 
nal  letter,  i.  408-410;  home  in  Salem,  i.  436;  letter,  i.  437,  438;  plans 
for  a  home  with  her  brother,  i.  452;  last  letter,  i.  453,  454;  loss  in  a 
steamer,  i.  454-458.  (See  Letters.) 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  son  of  Judge  Hawthorne,  death,  i.  27. 
HAWTHORNE,  NATHANIEL,  subject  of  this  Biography  :  — 

Vol.  I.  — Ancestral  Matters  (Ch.  I.),  1-38;  surroundings,  4;  in 
fluence  of  mother  and  sisters,  5;  character,  6,  7;  Florentine 
experiences  with  Spiritualism,  30-35;  influence  of  marriage, 
39-44;  Boyhood  and  Bachelorhood  (Chs.  III.,  IV.),  82-176; 
mystery  of  early  life,  82;  forefathers,  83;  an  imaginary 
Hawthorne,  84;  his  analysts,  slander  in  England,  85;  Ben- 
noch's  defence,  87  ;  temperance  and  tolerance,  88  ;  many- 
sided,  89;  "all  things  to  all  men,"  90;  problem  of  character, 
91;  self-estimate,  92;  reverence,  93;  absence  of  boyish  pre 
monitions,  94;  birthplace,  Maine  residence,  95;  college,  96; 
early  sketches,  97;  seclusion,  98;  traits,  99;  lameness,  100; 
Sebago  life,  101;  verses,  102;  comparison  with  Poe,  103; 
enigmatic  letter,  104;  discontent  with  Salem,  105;  poetic 


412  INDEX. 

HAWTHORNE,  NATHANIEL  (continued). 

scraps,  106 ;  thoughts  of  a  profession,  107,  108 ;  term  life,  109 ', 
college  needs,  110,  111 ;  an  intrusion,  112 ;  personal  necessi 
ties,  anxiety  to  leave  Brunswick,  113-115 ;  religious  revival, 
116;  brotherly  jests,  117;  boyish  promises,  118;  college  friends, 
119;  behavior  at  Bowdoin,  120;  physique,  121;  indolence, 
122,  123;  first  stories,  124;  seclusion,  abstemious  habits,  125; 
melancholy,  126;  stranger  to  love,  127;  relations  to  Susan, 
128-130;  communications  from  publishers,  and  others,  about 
his  early  stones,  131-152;  the  South  Sea  project,  152-157; 
more  letters  on  literary  matters,  from  Bridge  and  others,  158- 
164;  sensibility  of  his  genius,  165-167;  sad  experience  with 
a  peculiar  woman,  167-173 ;  self-reproach  for  Cilley's  death, 
174;  deepest  feelings,  175;  list  of  works,  1832-1838,  176;  Court 
ship  (Ch.  V.),  177-242;  boyish  appearance,  177, 178;  first  meet 
ing  with  Sophia  Peabody,  179,  180;  interviews,  181;  ancestral 
granite,  182;  journey  to  Western  Massachusetts,  183;  calls 
upon  Sophia,  184,  185,  188,  190;  furor  scribendi,  191;  reading 
German,  192;  flower  incident,  193;  Romance  of  his  life,  194; 
resolution  for  life's  battle,  195;  custom-house  influence,  196; 
family  opposition  to  marriage,  197-199 ;  goes  to  Brook  Farm, 
200  ;  marriage,  family  reconciliation,  201 ;  letters  to  his  be 
trothed,  202-208;  her  one  reply,  209;  plans  for  a  home,  210, 
211;  pictures  received,  212,  213;  hearing  Father  Taylor,  214; 
heavenly  love,  215;  dread  of  a  party,  216;  anxiety  about  the 
feelings  of  his  family,  217;  admiration,  218;  anticipations, 
219 ;  walk  with  Hillard,  220 ;  Jones  Very,  and  other  callers, 
221;  solitude,  222;  spiritual  bodies,  223;  his  life's  sunshine, 
224;  Brook  Farm  experiences,  229-238;  family  feeling,  239, 
240;  wedding  brightness,  241;  ceremony,  242;  Old  Manse 
(Ch.  VI.),  243-303;  definite  conception,  243;  literature  but  a 
phase  of  his  life,  244;  domestic  life  begun,  neighbors,  245; 
mutual  journals,  246;  reserve,  contrast  to  his  wife,  247;  mu 
tual  service,  248;  debt  to  her,  249;  the  question  of  boarders, 
251-256;  on  Margaret  Fuller's  marriage,  259-202;  mother-in- 
law's  opinion,  264  ;  high  literary  aims,  265  ;  style  in  biog 
raphy,  266;  sacred  character,  267;  opinion  of  Fourier.  269; 
dislike  of  visiting,  270;  fascinates  Emerson,  271;  wife's  wor 
ship,  270-272;  housekeeping,  273,  274;  reading  aloud,  275; 
first  child,  276;  furniture  accidents,  278,  279  ;  "  largest  rents," 
280;  calls  from  college  friends,  281;  letter  from  ()' Sullivan, 
284,  285;  a  paradise  to  his  wife,  286;  in  debt,  287;  flowers 


INDEX.  413 

HAWTHORNE,  NATHANIEL  (continued). 

for  his  wife,  288;  dependence  upon  her,  289;  walk  at  Walden, 
290 ;  Hosmer  and  Emerson,  291 ;  Thoreau  and  Ellery  Channing, 
202 ;  conduct  towards  his  mother  and  sisters,  293 ;  worldly 
condition,  294;  separation  from  wife  and  children,  295;  the 
drowned  girl,  296-303,  361;  Salem  (Ch.  VII.),  304-356;  town 
•  life,  304;  double  house,  305;  self  merged  in  children,  306;  care 
for  wife,  307;  dressing-gown,  308;  appointed  Surveyor,  309; 
son  born,  310;  dislike  of  dark  materials,  311;  new  house,  312- 
314;  letter  from  G.  W.  Curtis,  315-322;  Julian's  regard  for  his 
father,  323;  dreams,  324;  family  absent,  325;  meeting  with 
Elizabeth  Hawthorne,  326;  vision  of  separation,  327;  trouble 
on  Una's  account,  328;  letter  to  her,  329;  stories,  330;  letter 
to  his  mother,  331;  political  manoeuvring,  332;  illness,  335; 
loss  of  surveyorship,  336-340;  his  mother's  death,  341-352; 
removal,  payments,  353;  Great  Stone  Face,  354;  gift  of  money, 
355;  removal  from  Salem,  356;  Lenox  (Ch.  VIII.),  357-435; 
ill-health,  357,  358;  Scarlet  Letter,  359;  erroneous  anecdote 
about  its  denouement,  360 ;  error  about  story  of  the  drowned 
girl,  361  ;  neighbors,  362;  weariness  and  depression,  363; 
summer  labor,  364 :  Lenox  house,  366 ;  teaching  children, 
367;  ancestral  bric-a-brac,  368;  study,  370;  hen-coop,  ideal 
library,  372;  lofty  spirit,  373;  Ehninger's  visit,  374;  fine 
reader,  376;  a  day's  life,  375,  376;  Herman  Melville,  and 
other  visitors,  377 ;  Seven  Gables,  38  L ;  no  return  to  short 
stories,  382;  reading  proofs,  383;  comparison  with  Shakspeare, 
384,  385;  criticism  from  Melville,  386,  387;  power  to  say  No, 
388;  letter  to  his  sister  Elizabeth,  389,  390;  Salem  types,  391; 
identity  of  the  Gable  House,  392;  an  invalid's  admiration, 
393;  youngest  daughter,  394,  395  ;  vacation,  396  ;  playing  with 
children,  397;  intercourse  with  Melville,  398-407;  busy,  408; 
removal  to  Kemble  cottage,  409;  alone  with  Mrs.  Peters,  410; 
journal  about  Bunny,  etc.,  411-414;  Melville's  disguise,  415; 
Bunny  again,  416;  a  Quaker  caller,  417,  418;  Julian's  needs, 
419  ;  Shakers,  420;  a  picturesque  drive,  421;  Monument 
Mountain  in  a  storm,  422;  unexpected  visitors,  423;  excur 
sions  with  his  boy,  424;  ladies  on  horseback,  425;  loneliness, 
426  ;  the  lake,  427 ;  Wonder-Book,  428  ;  restlessness,  429 ; 
removal  to  West  Newton,  430-432;  Ellery  Channing  letters, 
433,  434;  Alcott  house,  435  ;  Concord  again  (Ch.  IX.),  436-487; 
resemblance  to  his  sister  Elizabeth,  436  ;  sisterly  letters,  437- 
439;  Washington  Irving,  440;  B.  W.  Procter,  441;  Amelie 


414  INDEX. 

HAWTHORNE,  NATHANIEL  (continued). 

Botta,  442,  443 ;  Blithedale  Romance,  444 ;  Pike's  letter,  445- 
447  ;  Hillard's.  448  ;  Mrs.  Peabody's  admiration  of  Seven 
Gables,  449;  Tanglewood  Tales,  450;  Wayside  and  Manse 
not  to  be  confounded,  451,  452;  Louisa's  death,  453-458;  R. 
H.  Stoddard,  459-462;  Pierce  Biography,  463-465;  Isles  of 
Shoals,  466  ;  Sleepy  Hollow,  and  other  Concord  sites,  467-469 ; 
literary  plans,  470;  Robert  Carter's  advice,  471-474;  story  of 
Agatha,  475 ;  Webster,  476-481  ;  relations  to  Pierce,  482-484 ; 
death  of  Mrs.  Peabndy,  485,  486;  to  Liverpool,  487;  notes 
for  stories,  488-497 ;  picture  from  nature,  498-505. 
Vol.  II.  —  First  Months  in  England  (Ch.  I.),  1-39 ;  worldly 
success,  2;  European  outlet,  3;  English  admirers,  4;  praise 
from  De  Quincey's  daughters,  5-7;  admiration  for  De  Quin- 
cey,  5;  fine  reading,  9;  a  story  in  verse,  10;  preparations  for 
departure,  11;  kind  assurances,  12;  back  from  Washington, 
13;  leaving  Concord,  14;  first  voyage,  15;  Halifax,  16,  17; 
arrival  in  Liverpool,  18;  official  hours,  19;  habits  and  sailors, 
20;  Bright  episodes,  21;  a  consul's  day,  22;  residence,  23; 
welcome,  24-26;  dinner  with  a  magistrate,  29;  consular  in 
come,  30;  life  in  Hock  Park,  31,  32;  short  excursions,  33; 
Bennoch's  fire  lesson,  34;  bonds  of  sympathy,  35;  American 
book  commended,  36;  bidden  to  a  masquerade,  37,  38;  From 
the  Lakes  to  London  (Ch.  II.),  40-73;  Bramley  Moore's 
dinner,  40;  opinion  of  Warren  the  novelist,  41,  42;  sharp 
edge  of  criticism,  43;  neighborhood  tramps,  44;  flights  of 
fancy,  45,  46;  the  Howitts,  47,  48;  Manx  journey,  49;  Chan 
nel  .Islands,  50;  return  to  Liverpool,  51;  lonely,  52;  cricket- 
match,  54,  55;  language,  5(5;  Welsh  and  other  trips,  58;  the 
Milnes  invitations,  58;  Conway  wreck,  59;  official  dignity, 
60;  Unitarian  letter,  61;  church-going,  62;  Leamington  and 
landscapes,  63;  Stratford  and  other  places,  income  reduced, 
64;  dislike  of  surroundings,  65;  lakes  and  plan?,  66;  dread 
of  separation,  67;  legendary  footstep,  68;  description  of  the 
Ainsworths,  69;  English  home  customs,  70;  London  wan 
derings,  71;  parting  with  wife  and  girls,  72;  Liverpool  and 
London  (Ch.  III.),  73-124;  jolly  life  at  Mrs.  Blodgett's  with 
Julian,  73-77;  Bright' s  poetic  squib,  78-80;  the  absent  ones, 
101-104;  workhouse  incident,  depressed  spirits,  105;  trips 
to  Aldershott  and  about  London  with  Bennoch,  106-108; 
trip  to  Albany,  and  description  of  Tupper  and  family,  108- 
116 ;  pilgrimages  and  interviews  with  Hall,  Mackay,  Reade, 


INDEX.  415 

HAWTHORNE,  NATHANIEL  (continued). 

Albert  Smith,  etc.,  117-122;  return  to  Liverpool,  122;  trip  to 
Scotland  and  North  of  England,  122-124;  Eighteen  Months 
Before  Rome  (Ch.  IV.),  125-169;  return  of  family,  125;  hard 
time  at  Clifton  Villa,  126,  127;  London  views  and  experiences, 
128;  notables,  129,  130;  Blenheim  photograph,  131;  delight 
ful  visit  at  Blackheath,  127-131;  Sotithport  residence,  131- 
142;  visit  from  Melville,  134-136;  description  of  a  curious 
gentleman,  136;  burglary,  137;  York  and  Manchester  trip, 
Old  Boston,  138;  Newstead  Abbey  and  the  Byrons,  139-141; 
Manchester  Exhibition,  142-146 ;  peeps  at  Tennyson  and 
Woolner,  143-146;  two  months  at  Leamington,  146-150; 
walks  with  son  to  Warwick,  etc.,  146-148;  raises  his  voice  at 
Coventry,  149;  Spiritualism,  150;  resignation  of  consulship, 
151;  sympathy  with  seamen,  151-163,  226;  financial  matters 
in  closing  his  consulship,  163-166;  English  •  journals,  168; 
to  Paris,  169;  Donati's  Comet  (Ch.  V.),  170-202;  feelings 
towards  England  and  Italy,  170,  171;  Roman  history,  172;  the 
weather  in  France,  173;  Judge  Mason,  174;  jests  about  bri 
gands,  175;  first  views  of  Rome,  176;  buildings,  177;  St. 
Peter's,  178;  enjoyment  of  Carnival,  179-181;  bust,  182,  183; 
dead  monk,  sculpture,  184  ;  painters,  inspired  by  sunshine, 
185;  artist  friends,  186;  artists'  jealousies,  187;  Mrs.  Jame 
son,  and  other  friends,  188;  to  Florence  by  carriage,  189,  190; 
Florentine  friends  and  rambles.  191,  192;  study  of  Titian  and 
Raphael,  193;  dependence  on  wife's  artistic  judgment,  194; 
insight  into  sculpture,  196;  Court  glimpses,  sunny  revival, 
197;  luxury  in  a  castle,  198  ;  outlook  from  Monte  Beni,  199  ; 
route  back  to  Rome,  200;  ten  days  in  Siena,  201;  welcome  to 
the  Eternal  City,  202;  Rome  to  England  (Ch.  VI.),  203-235; 
at  home  in  Rome's  centre,  203,  204;  card-playing,  205; 
anxiety  on  account  of  Una's  illness,  206-211;  another  Carni 
val,  211;  an  adventure,  212,  213.;  last  month,  213;  bothers  of 
travel,  214;  Leghorn,  Marseilles,  215,  216;  Avignon,  217; 
Lyons,  Switzerland,  218;  Geneva,  Paris,  219;  feelings  to 
wards  Europe,  220,  221;  friendships  renewed,  222;  London 
meetings,  223;  Henry  Chorley,  sojourn  at  Whitby,  224,  225; 
sufferings  of  seamen,  226;  life  at  Redcar,  227,  228;  walks 
from  Leamington,  230 ;  dreary  winter,  231 ;  London  trips, 
232 ;  proposals  from  Bradbury  &  Evans,  233-235 ;  Marble  Faun 
(Ch.  VII.),  236-261;  Rugb}',  236;  Bath,  237;  reviews  and 
answers,  238-254;  gossipy  letter,  255;  photograph  taken, 


416  INDEX. 

HAWTHORNE,  NATHANIEL  (continued). 

256-258;  Cambridge,  259,  260;  good-bye  to  England,  261; 
Wayside  and  the  War  (Cli.  VIII.),  202-299  ;  heat  at  Con 
cord,  262;  Wayside  changes,  263;  education  of  children,  265- 
267;  remodelling  house  and  stories,  268;  shorter  walks,  269; 
the  Southern  Rebellion,  270-272 ;  kindness  to  a  young  poet, 
273-275;  social  attractions,  276;  correspondence  on  the  War, 
277-279;  typical  English  women,  280;  depression  of  spirits, 
281;  health  excursion  to  Pride's  Crossing,  282-290;  on  sol 
diers,  291 ;  War  trumpets,  292  ;  War  letters  from  England, 
293-299;  Beginning  of  the  End  (Ch.  IX.),  300-333;  a  new- 
romance,  300-303;  a  book  dedicated  to  Pierce,  304;  letters 
about  his  description  of  English  women,  etc.,  305-308 ;  Atlan 
tic  article  on  War  matters,  309-312  ;  Morris  letter,  313  ;  rest 
ing,  314;  trip  into  Maine,  315-321;  Nonsense  Verses,  322; 
efforts  to  write  the  Dolliver  Romance,  323;  health  failing, 
324-329;  son  at  college,  330;  seaside  with  Una,  331;  grow 
ing  worse,  332,333;  Conclusion  (Ch.  X.),  334-375;  body  and 
mind,  334;  a  passage  from  Evangeline,  335;  a  journey  to 
Philadelphia,  336-343;  failing  at  Concord,  344;  a  last  fare 
well,  345;  death  in  New  Hampshire,  346;  burial,  347,  348; 
English  sympathy,  349-351;  his  wife's  estimate,  352,  353; 
character,  374,  375. 
HAWTHORNE,  NATHANIEL,  HIS  WORKS:  — 

In  general  :  list,  i.  175, 176 ;  Hawthorne's  opinion  of  his  own  stories, 
ii.  106,  107;  English  and  Italian,  ii.  191;  many  more  possible, 
ii.  199,  200. 

Alice  Doane  :  tale  of  witchcraft,  i.  124;  Goodrich's  opinion,  i.  131, 
132  ;  Appeal,  i.  176. 

Ambition's  Guest,  in  New  England  Magazine,  i.  175. 

American  Note-Books  :  allusion,  i.  38 ;  Western  Massachusetts, 
i.  183;  reference,  i.  209;  Old  Manse,  i.  246;  journal,  i.  288; 
Isles  of  Shoals,  i.  466;  stories,  i.  487. 

Ancestral  Footstep,  The :  scene  of  the  Bloody  Footstep,  ii.  68,  69 ; 
thread  of  the  story,  ii.  301,  302. 

April  Fools,  i.  176. 

Bell's  Biography,  A,  i.  176. 

Bells,  etc.,  i.  176. 

Blithedale  Romance,  The  :  Hawthorne's  identity  with  Coverdale, 
i.85;  background,  i.  200  ;  culminating  scene,  i.  296;  identity  of 
Zenobia,  i.  394;  Fourier  consulted,  i.  416;  Hollingsworth,  i.  328; 
written  in  West  Newton,  i.  431,  432;  cordial  letters,  i.  443; 


INDEX.  417 

HAWTHORNE'S  WORKS  (continued). 

Pike's  praise,  i.  444-447  ;  Hillard's,  i.  448  ;  Mrs.  Peabody's 
analysis,  i.  449 ;  various  opinions,  i.  457,  458  ;  English  pay 
ment,  ii.  2;  Miss  De  Quincey's  preference,  ii.  5  ;  Tupper's  in 
quiries,  ii.  109  ;  Lucas's  praise,  ii.  234  ;  Zenobia  and  Miriam, 
ii.  244,  245 ;  Ellery  Charming' s  admiration,  ii.  265. 

Boston  Tea-Party,  The,  i.  176. 

Browne's  Folly,  in  Weal  Reaf,  ii.  314. 

Canterbury  Pilgrims,  The,  in  The  Token,  i.  175. 

Celestial  Railroad,  The,  Mrs.  Peabody's  praise,  i.  267. 

Chiefly  about  War  Matters,  in  Atlantic,  ii.  309-314,  327,  337. 

Chimaera,  The:  humor,  i.  408;  a  child's  praise,  i.  450;  Carter's 
praise,  i.  471. 

Chippings  with  a  Chisel,  i.  176. 

Consular  Experiences  :  quoted,  ii,21;  treatment  of  seamen,  ii.  152. 

David  Snow:  in  The  Token,  i.  139  ;  O'Sullivan's  praise,  i.  159. 

Devil  in  Manuscript,  The,  i.  176. 

Dr.  Grimshawe's  Secret :  where  written,  ii.  268  ;  thinking  about 
it,  ii.  299;  omissions,  ii.  302;  given  up,  ii.  303  ;  transcribed 
by  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  ii.  372. 

Dolliver  Romance,  The:  where  written,  ii.  268;  its  charm,  ii.  303; 
preparation,  ii.  323,  324  ;  introductory  chapter  withdrawn, 
ii.  349. 

Duston  Family,  The,  i.  176. 

Edward  Fane's  Rosebud,  i.  176. 

Endicott  and  his  Men,  i.  176. 

English  Note-Books:  dedication,  i.  86;  reference,  i.  335;  stories, 
i.  487  ;  William  Howitt,  ii.  49 ;  Kirk  Madden,  ii.  50 ;  Welsh, 
and  other  expeditions,  ii.  57;  Lake  tour,  ii.  66  ;  Smithell's 
Hall,  ii.  69;  annoyance  with  his  own  publicity  at  dinners^ 
ii.  122 ;  trips  to  Scotland  and  Old  Boston,  ii.  138;  Spiritualism, 
ii.  150,  151  ;  John  Treeo's  grave,  ii.  230,  231;  Bath,  ii.  237; 
allusions  to  Bright,  ii.  351. 

Ethan  Brand :  why  written,  i.  330,  331 ;  a  sad  fellow,  i.  404. 

Fancy's  Show-Box,  O'Sullivan's  commendation,  i.  159. 

Fanshawe:  published,  i.  124  ;  Goodrich's  opinion,  i.  132. 

Footprints  on  the  Seashore,  i.  176. 

Fountain  of  Youth,  The,  Gaylord  Clark's  praise,  i.  133. 

French  and  Italian  Note-Books :  details  of  author's  life  in  Italy, 
ii.  171;  the  Faun  of  Praxiteles,  ii.  185  ;  Bryant,  ii.  188;  talks 
with  Powers,  ii.  196  ;  Avignon,  ii.  217  ;  Hawthorne's  art-pro 
gress,  ii.  221 ;  allusions  to  Bright,  ii.  351. 
VOL.  ii.  27 


418  INDEX. 

HAWTHORNE'S  WORKS  (continued). 

Gentle  Boy, The  :  Goodrich's  opinion,  i.  131,  132;  allusions,  i.  139, 
140  ;  pathos,  i.  151  ;  in  Thei  Token,  i.  175  ;  illustration  of 
Ibrahim,  i.  181. 

Golden  Fleece,  The,  i.  462. 

Golden  Touch,  The,  Carter's  criticism,  i.  473. 

Graves  and  Goblins,  i.  175. 

Gray  Champion,  The :  in  The  Token,  i.  140  ;  and  Other  Tales,  i. 
142  ;  allusions  by  Elizabeth  Hawthorne,  ii.  327,  329. 

Great  Carbuncle,  The,  legendary  lake,  i.  468. 

Greut  Stone  Face:  Hawthorne's  estimate,  i.  354;  portraiture  of 
Webster,  i.  476-481. 

Hall  of  Fantasy,  The,  shortened,  i.  473. 

Haunted  Mind,  The,  i.  176. 

House  of  the  Seven  Gables,  The:  family  incident,  i.  26;  Haw 
thorne's  supposed  identity  with  Clifford,  i.  85;  plan,  Salem 
scene,  i.  364;  written  on  George's  desk,  i.  377;  written  in  five 
months,  i.  381;  conclusion,  i.  383;  Melville's  comments, 
i.  385-389;  compared  with  Scarlet  Letter,  i.  389,  390;  Lowell's 
praise,  i.  390-392;  identity  with  Salem  localities,  i.  392;  an  in 
valid's  admiration,  i.  393,  394;  Pyncheon  family,  i.  395;  vaca 
tion,  i.  396;  flattering  allusions,  i.  405;  James  on,  i.415;  written 
in  Lenox,  i.  427;  sister  Elizabeth's  admiration,  i.  438,  439; 
Irving's,  i.  440;  Procter's,  i.  441;  praise  from  Germanv,  i.  442, 
443;  Pike's  references,  i.  444;  Hillard's,  i.  446;  Mrs.  Peabody's 
admiration,  i.  449;  pirated,  ii.  2;  mental  exhaustion,  ii.  3; 
allusion  in  humorous  poem,  ii.  78;  Miss  Ghrn's  complimentary 
error,  ii.  119 ;  Lucas's  letter,  ii.  233 ;  Phoebe  and  Hilda,  ii.  245. 

Life  of  Pierce:  where  written,  i.  450;  why  written,  and  when, 
i.  463;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  estimate,  i.  464;  various  other  opin 
ions,  i.  465,  466;  interferes  with  other  work,  i.  470;  replies  to 
censure,  i.  481-485. 

Little  Annie's  Ramble:  Bridge's  approval,  i.  151;  Hawthorne's 
smile,  i.  185. 

Main  Street,  why  written,  i.  330-332. 

Man  of  Adamant,  The,  i.  176. 

Marble  Faun,  The:  supposed  identity  of  Hawthorne  with  the 
Spectre,  i.  81;  characters,  i.  244;  Miriam's  original,  ii.  120; 
Romance  of  Monte-Beni,  Tauchnitz  edition,  details  of  author's 
life  in  Italy,  ii.  171,  172;  Hilda  at  the  confessional,  ii.  178; 
Carnival,  ii.  181 ;  dead  monk,  ii.  183,  184;  the  Faun  of  Prax 
iteles,  ii.  185;  Miriam's  studio,  ii.  188;  statue  at  Perugia,  ii.  196 ; 


INDEX.  419 

HAWTHORNE'S  WORKS  (continued). 

first  sketch  Avritten  at  Montaiito,  the  type  of  Monte  Beni, 
ii.  199;  when  written,  ii.  219;  Chorley  on,  ii.  224;  original  of 
Hilda's  character  and  name,  ii.  224,225;  where  put  together, 
ii.  226-228;  the  Faun's  crime,  ii.  229;  finished,  ii.233;  Transfor 
mation  published,  ii.  235;  publication  (Ch.  VTI.),  236-261;  origi 
nal  of  Miriam,  last  chapter  condemned,  ii.  236;  faun  or  satyr? 
ii.  237;  early  reviews,  Motley's,  ii.  238;  Bright' s  disappoint 
ment,  ii.  239,  240;  change  of  title,  second  edition,  ii.  241; 
manuscript  copy,  ii.  243;  comments  of  Milnes,  ii.  244;  of 
Chorley,  and  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  reply,  ii.  244-248;  characters 
compared,  ii.  244,  245;  opinion  of  the  Halls,  ii.  248-250;  caustic 
notice  in  Saturday  Review,  ii.  250-253;  Miriani,  ii.  251;  Ben 
nett's  poetic  tribute,  ii.  253,  254;  the  true  Faun,  ii.  255;  Ellery 
Channing's  comments,  ii.  265;  preface,  ii.  305;  B.  Aikin's 
praise,  ii.  306  ;  reperusal  by  Elizabeth  Hawthorne,  ii.  337. 

Martha's  Vineyard,  i.  176. 

Memoir  of  Jonathan  Cilley,  i.  176. 

Minotaur,  The,  i.  462. 

Miraculous  Pitcher,  The,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  high  praise,  ii.  286. 

Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse:  preface,  i.  246;  writing,  i.  288,  360; 
sent  to  Tennyson,  ii.  273,  274. 

My  Uncle  Molineaux:  Goodrich's  commendation,  i.  131, 132  ;  My 
Kinsman,  etc.,  i.  175. 

Nature  of  Sleep,  The,  i   176. 

Night  Thoughts  under  an  Umbrella,  i.  176. 

Old  Maid  in  the  Winding-Sheet,  The :  White  Old  Maid,  coat-of- 
arms,  i.  9;  allusion,  i.  175  ;  in  verse,  ii.  10,  51. 

Old  News,  in  New  England  Magazine,  i.  175. 

Ontario  Steamboat,  The,  i.  176. 

Our  Old  Home:  where  written,  i.  452;  description  of  consulate, 
ii.  19;  Stratford-on-Avon,  ii.  64;  Blenheim  visit,  ii.  131;  ship 
ping-questions,  ii.  152;  return  from  Italy,  ii.  219;  when  put 
together,  ii.  268;  preface,  ii.  272,  273;  women  and  beefsteak, 
ii.  277,  278,  280;  collected  sketches,  ii.  303;  dedication,  ii.  3-04; 
indignation  in  England,  ii.  305;  defence  of  English  ladies,  ii. 
306-308;  Elizabeth  Hawthorne's  opinion,  ii.  324,  325;  allusion 
to  Bright,  ii.  351. 

Peter  Goldthwaite,  i.  176. 

Preservation  of  the  Dead,  i.  176. 

Procession  of  Life,  The,  Mr.  Phillips's  praise,  i.  266,  267. 

Prophetic  Pictures,  The,  in  The  Token,  i.  139. 


420  INDEX. 

HAWTHORNE'S  WORKS  (continued). 

Proserpine,  i.  462. 

P.'s  Correspondence,  received,  i.  285. 

Rappacini's  Daughter:  story  about  the  denouement,  i.  360;  allu 
sion  in  humorous  poem,  ii.  78. 

Roger  Malvin's  Burial,  in  The  Token,  i.  132,  175. 

Scarlet  Letter,  The:  Hawthorne's  supposed  identity  with  certain 
characters,  i.  85;  when  written,  i  304;  work  in  Salem,  i.  312; 
how  brought  forth,  i.  332;  read  to  his  wife,  i.  335;  circumstances 
of  production,  i.  336;  Avife's  frugality,  i.  340;  discontinuance, 
i.  341;  finished  in  Berkshire  County,  i.  352-354;  speedy  finan 
cial  success,  i.  357-359;  story  about  its  denouement,  i.  360; 
personages,  Howard's  praise,  i.  364-366;  Lenox  cottage,  i.  366; 
Ehninger's  picture,  i.  374,  375 ;  compared  with  Seven  Gables, 
i.  389;  Lowell's  praise,  i.391;  inquiry,  i.  395;  sister  Elizabeth's 
preference,  i.  438 ;  praise  from  Germany,  i.  442 ;  probing  deeply, 
i.  444,  445;  Hillard  on  certain  characters,  i.  446;  crisis  in  au 
thor's  life,  ii.  2;  mental  exhaustion,  ii.  3;  symbol,  ii.  68,  69; 
allusion  in  humorous  poem,  ii.  78;  Mrs.  Crosland's  praise,  ii. 
106;  Tupper's  salutation  and  inquiries,  ii.  109;  Hunt's  letter, 
ii.  232;  Lucas's,  ii.  233;  last  scenes,  ii.  245;  Tennyson's  com 
pliment,  ii.  274;  will  endure,  ii.  305. 

Septimius  Felton :  where  written,  ii.  268;  the  first  study,  ii.  300; 
want  of  sympathy  with  the  hero's  infatuation,  ii.  301;  incon 
gruities,  ii.  303;  deciphered  and  published,  ii.  372. 

Seven  Tales  of  My  Native  Land,  projected,  i.  124,  470. 

Seven  Vagabonds,  The,  in  The  Token,  i.  175. 

Shaker  Bridal,  The,  i.  176. 

Sights  from  the  Steeple,  in  The  Token,  i.  139. 

Sir  William  Pepperell,  in  The  Token,  i.  175. 

Sketches  from  Memory,  i.  175,  176. 

Snow-Flakes,  i.  176. 

Snow  Image,  The:  written  in  Salem,  i.  312;  in  Memorial  Volume, 
and  illustrated,  i.  330;  told  to  children,  i.  407,408;  added  sug 
gestion,  i.  492. 

Story-Teller,  The,  in  New  England  Magazine,  i.  175. 

Susan  Grey,  genius,  i.  124. 

Sylph  Etheredge,  i.  176. 

Tales  of  the  Province  House,  i.  176. 

Tanglewood  Tales:  locality,  i.  362;  when,  where,  and  why  writ 
ten,  i.  450;  finished,  i.  462;  setting,  i.  470;  English  edition, 
ii.  26. 


INDEX.  421 

HAWTHORNE'S  WORKS  (continued). 

Three  Golden  Apples,  The,  Carter's  criticism,  i.  473. 

Toll-Gatherer's  Day,  i.  176. 

True  Stories,  on  the  stocks,  i.  201. 

Twice-Told  Tales:  preface,  i.  85;  first  publication,  i.  98,  146, 150; 
Bridge's  approval,  i.  151;  notices,  i.  153,  154;  harmony  with 
Hawthorne's  physique,  i.  179 ;  six  copies,  i.  389 ;  early  recep 
tion,  i.  391;  erroneous  preface,  i.  398;  James  on,  i.  415;  Miss 
De  Quincey's  preference,  ii.  5;  Chorley's  discovery,  ii.  223. 

Unpardonable  Sin,  The  (Ethan  Brand),  i.  404. 

Village  Uncle,  The:  description  of  Susan,  i.  128-130;  the  Mer 
maid,  i.  176. 

Visit  to  Niagara  Falls,  in  New  England  Magazine,  i.  175. 

Wedding  Knell,  The,  in  The  Token,  i.  139. 

Widows,  The,  Mrs.  Peabody's  praise,  i.  267. 

Wives  of  the  Dead,  The,  in  The  Token,  i.  132,  175. 

Wonder-Book,  The  :  facts  in,  i.  3(52;  told  to  children,  i.  407,  408 ;  il- 
illustrations,  i.  428;  a  child's  appreciation,  i.  450;  size,  i.  462; 
structure,  i.  470;  Carter's  judgment,  i.  471-474;  Baby  May's 
kiss,  ii.  10. 

Young  Goodman  Brown,  in  New  England  Magazine,  i.  175. 
HAWTHORNE,  NATHANIEL,  NOTES  FOR  STORIES,  i.  488-505:  — 

Age,  old,  i.  492;  almshouse,  history,  i.  489;  angels  peeping  from 
the  eyes,  i.  496;  baby's  rides,  i.  492;  candy,  first  gibraltars, 
i.  494;  castles  in  the  air,  i.  497 ;  cavern,  allegory  of  heart,  i.  496 ; 
city,  devouring,  i.  488;  care,  depression  of,  i.  497;  dart,  poi 
soned,  i.  491;  death,  various  kinds  and  majesty,  i.  488;  death 
desired,  i.  490;  death's  real  estate,  i.  491;  divining-rod,  i.  488 ; 
dreams,  resemblance  of  life,  i.  488;  employments,  some  ab 
surd,  i.  491;  evil  characters  reappearing,  i.  489;  fop,  a  la 
Frankenstein,  i.  494;  fraction,  vulgar,  i.  493;  fragments  of 
good,  i.  494;  friendship,  false  intimacy,  i.  491;  golden  talis 
man,  i.  497 ;  Golden  Rule,  i.  490 ;  great  American  writer,  i.  490 ; 
great  deeds,  i.  491;  hand's  expression,  i.  497;  hearts  served 
tip,  i.  497;  hell,  house  built  over,  i.  492;  hero,  never  seen, 
i.  492;  jewel,  buried,  i.  490;  kitchen  annals,  i.  494;  life,  ad 
vantages  of  long,  i.  489;  mate,  description  of  an  old,  i.  491; 
ministers,  unreality,  i.  493:  nature,  a  scene  and  its  fancies, 
i.  498-505;  police-court,  examination  of  poets,  etc.,  i.  496; 
pride,  nature  not  careful  of,  i.  497;  raven,  and  George  the 
First,  i.  489 ;  rays,  crazy,  i.  493  ;  reporters,  dream,  i.  490 ;  skeleton 
revealed,  i.  498;  slave  experiment,  i.  496;  snow-image,  i.  492; 


422  INDEX. 

HAWTHORNE,  NATHANIEL,  NOTES  FOR  STORIES  (continued). 

spring  of  death,  i.  493;  sunshine,  i.  492;  turtle,  giant,  i.  495; 
vanity,  nature's  care  for,  i.  497;  Wandering  Jew,  early  life, 
i.  495,  496  ;  wedding-ring,  i.  492 ;  weight,  increase  with 
marriage,  i.  491,  492;  wizard-feast,  i.  493,  494;  words,  their 
potency,  i.  491;  youth  renewed,  i.  492. 
Hawthorne,  Rachel,  daughter  of  Bold  Daniel :  her  son,  John  Forrester, 

i.  8;  marriage  to  Simon  Forrester,  i.  36;  Salem  home,  i.  99. 
Hawthorne,  Rose,  youngest  child  of  Nathaniel  Hawthorne:  birth,  i.  394, 
395;  West  Newton,  i.  408;  description,  i.  409;  home  again,  i.  428;  al 
lusions,  i.  466;  babyhood,  i.  469,  475,  ii.  14;  grandmother's  dying 
thoughtfulriess,  i.  485;  friby  abroad,  ii.  10,  12,  49-52,  54,  72;  later 
travels,  ii.  19;  gift,  ii.  29;  daily  life,  ii.  30;  grandfather's  remem 
brance,  ii.  51;  to  Lisbon,  73;  Madeira,  ii.  102;  father's  love,  ii.  104, 
260;  return  from  Madeira,  ii.  124,  125;  Channing's  remembrance, 
ii.  132  ;  interest  in  a  burglary,  ii.  137  ;  at  Exhibition,  ii.  144; 
measles,  ii.  150;  schooling,  ii.  266,  267,  331;  gardening,  ii.  284, 
285;  drawing,  ii.  286;  a  walk,  ii.  287;  an  invitation,  ii.  290;  a 
mother's  praise,  ii.  332,  333;  last  days  with  father,  ii.  345,  346;  to 
Germany,  ii.  353;  mother's  illness,  ii.  356,  368-370;  marriage, 
ii.  373. 

Hawthorne,  Ruth  (Gardner),  marriage  to  Judge  Hawthorne,  i.  26. 
Hawthorne,  Ruth,  daughter  of  Judge  Hawthorne,  wife  of  James  Tick- 

nam,  or  Pickman,  i.  27. 

Hawthorne,  Ruth,  daughter  of  Bold  Daniel,  her  death,  i.  36. 
Hawthorne,   Sarah,   daughter  of  Bold  Daniel,  her  marriage  to  John 

Crowninshield,  i.  36. 

HAWTHORNE,   SOPHIA  AMELIA  (PEABODY),  wife  of  Nathaniel  Haw 
thorne  :  — 

Vol.  I.  —  Family  and  life  (Ch.  II.),  39-81;  subtle  aid  to  her  husband, 
39,  40;  culture,  40;  his  appreciation,  41;  moral  and  intellectual 
culture,  42;  family  letters,  43;  descent,  44;  Queen  Boadicea, 
45;  kindred,  birth,  46;  injury  from  drugs,  childish  disposition, 
47,  48 ;  anecdotes  told  to  her  children,  49 ;  curing  Lizzie's  bad 
habit,  50;  sufferings  with  her  aunts,  51-55;  fright  with  a  beggar- 
girl,  52,  53;  turkey  troubles,  55;  grandmother's  severity,  55,  56; 
the  party  and  pantalets,  57 ;  Uncle  Edward,  58 ;  relations  to  her 
mother,  59;  brothers,  60;  religion,  growth,  pupil  of  her  sister, 
love  of  history,  61;  helping  her  brothers  in  lingual  studies,  62; 
Hallowell  visit,  Boston  physicians,  63  ;  drawing  and  painting, 
64;  Allston's  interest,  65;  Cuban  trip,  66;  motherly  letters  dur 
ing  visits  in  Lancaster,  Brattleboro,  etc.,  66-70;  ocean  experi- 


INDEX.  423 

HAWTHORNE,  MRS.  (continued). 

ences,  71,  72;  plantation  adventures,  73;  scorpions,  74;  with 
the  Havens,  75 ;  stolen  peaches,  dreams,  76 ;  reading,  77 ;  sun 
rise,  78;  headache,  79;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Howes,  80;  sensitive 
ness,  81;  first  interview  with  Hawthorne,  178;  love  at  first 
sight,  179, 180;  further  acquaintance,  181, 182;  correspondence 
with  her  sister  Elizabeth,  183;  philosophizing,  a  violet,  184; 
admiration,  185;  on  Emerson,  186;  Harriet  Martineau,  minia 
ture  farm,  187;  prisoners,  Forget-me-not,  188;  call  on  the  Haw- 
thornes,  189;  brother  George's  illness,  190;  miscarried  flowers, 
191,  193,  194;  Queen  of  Journalizers,  192;  Life's  Romance, 
194;  Hawthorne's  guardian  angel,  196;  objections  of  Haw 
thorne  family,  197-200;  marriage,  201;  absolute  confidence, 
202;  loving  words,  203,  204;  letters  referred  to,  205-207;  com 
pared  to  an  epic  poem,  208;  the  one  surviving  letter  to  Haw 
thorne,  209;  books,  210;  gifts  to  him,  211-213;  soul  union, 
214;  Eden,  215;  protection  to  him,  216;  coolness  of  his  family, 
217;  beauty  of  her  letters,  218 ;  health,  219;  her  pen,  220;  her 
lover's  self-revealer,  222,  223;  sunshine  of  his  life,  224;  a  sin 
less  Eve,  225;  letters  of  light,  226;  an  angel's  letter,  237;  the 
one  woman,  238;  good  influence,  239,240;  married,  241,  242; 
Old  Manse  (Ch.  VI.),  243-303;  married  lovers,  246;  epithala- 
mion,  247-249;  mother's  suggestive  letters,  250,  251;  the  ques 
tion  of  boarders,  252-256;  on  Margaret  Fuller,  257:  Mrs. 
Peabody's  letters,  263-270;  replies,  270-275;  birds,  and  the 
cook,  272;  servant's  holiday,  273;  Paradisiacal  dinner,  274; 
first  child,  276-279;  sun-bonnet  and  sewing,  280;  husband's 
friends,  281-284;  wifely  devotion,  286 ;  domestic  questions,  287 ; 
his  lilv,  288;  sole  companion,  289;  twin  sister  to  the  Spring, 
290;  his  solicitude,  293,  294;  Salem  (Ch.  VII.),  304-356;  three 
houses,  304;  life  merged  in  children,  305;  husband's  wardrobe, 
307  ;  temporary  residence  in  Boston,  308;  second  baby,  309,  310  ; 
a  purple  dress,  311;  Mall  St.  plans,  312-315;  the  family  journal, 
324 ;  letters  during  a  Boston  visit,  325-329 ;  letter  to  mother, 
330,  331;  from  her,  332;  description  of  children,  333,  334;  buoy 
ancy  over  his  loss  of  place,  340;  nursing  Madame  Hawthorne, 
341-351;  a  "  marble-souled  fiend,"  352;  removal  to  Berkshire, 
353,  354;  agreeable  notes,  355;  Miss  Bremer,  356;  Lenox 
(Ch.  VIII.),  357-435;  effect  of  Scarlet  Letter,  359,  360;  pena- 
tes,  363,  364;  home  described,  366-372;  husband's  spirit,  373; 
Ehninger's  visit,  374;  story  of  a  day,  375,  376;  humorous 
observation  of  visitors,  377;  affection  for  her  mother,  378-380; 


424  INDEX. 

HAWTHORNE,  MRS.  (continued). 

mountains,  381 ;  Seven  Gables,  383  ;  third  child,  394,  395;  Mel 
ville's  visits,  407;  to  West  Newton,  408;  journey  eastward, 
409;  husband's  anxiety,  428;  West  Newton,  430-432;  second 
residence  in  Concord  (Ch.  IX.),  436-487;  Louisa's  death,  452- 
456;  Pierce  Biography,  464;  haunts  in  Concord,  467,  468;  es 
timate  of  Webster,  475,  478-481;  of  Pierce,  481-485;  mother's 
death,  485-487. 

Vol.  II. —  First  Months  in  England  (Ch.  I.),  1-39;  outlook  of 
travel,  3;  letter  about  the  De  Quincey  family,  4-6;  fondness 
for  that  author,  8;  a  fine  reader  to  her  children,  9;  more  news 
to  father,  10-13;  leaving  Wayside,  14;  leaving  America,  15; 
night  on  deck,  16;  description  of  Halifax,  17;  boarding,  18; 
plain  talk,  21;  church-going,  22;  journal  on  life  in  a  castellated 
house,  23 ;  Bright  remembrances,  26 ;  giving  a  dinner-party, 
27 ;  reports  to  father,  28 ;  scissors  from  Ticknor,  29 ;  large 
housekeeping  on  small  means,  30;  prices,  31;  furnishings,  32; 
•words  to  her  father,  36;  poetic  account  of  Russian  troubles,  37; 
frightened  servants,  38;  From  the  Lakes  to  London  (Ch.  II.), 
40-73;  visit  from  the  O'Sullivans,  47;  a  fortnight  among  the 
Channel  Islands,  49,  51;  servant  annoyances,  52;  whooping- 
cough,  53;  description  of  cricket,  55;  remarks  on  the  use  of 
language,  56;  with  husband,  to  Wales,  57;  lost  in  Conway 
Castle,  59;  note  from  an  old  friend,  60;  to  Leamington,  61-64; 
among  the  Lakes,  65;  ill-health,  66;  approaching  separation, 
67;  back  to  Liverpool,  68;  Hanover  Square,  70;  aboard  for 
Portugal,  72,  73 ;  racy  descriptions  of  Lisbon  and  its  Court,  80- 
101:  voyage  to  Madeira,  102;  arrival  at  Southampton,  124, 
125 ;  Eighteen  Months  Before  Rome  (Ch.  IV.),  125-169  ;  country 
board,  125-127;  happy  hours  at  Bennoch's,  127-131;  medical 
aid,  127;  Channing  letter,  132,  133 ;  Southport,  134-142 ;  brief 
trip  to  York,  etc.,  137;  Newstead  Abbey,  138-141;  wedding- 
day  gifts,  142;  Manchester,  142-146;  seeing  Tennyson,  144- 
146;  a  Coventry  cab,  148,  149;  Lansdowne  Circus,  146-150; 
children  ill,  150  ;  off  for  the  Continent,  167-169 ;  qualifications 
to  appreciate  Italy,  172;  Paris  ways,  173,  174;  voyage  to 
Civita  Vecchia,  175  ;  Rome  at  last,  176 ;  Capuchin  incident, 
183, 184;  American  and  English  visitors,  188;  to  Florence,  189, 
190;  Casa  Bella,  191;  Powers,  192;  description  of  Perugino's 
Deposition,  194,  195;  St.  John's  Day,  197;  a  big  house,  198; 
outlook,  199;  return  to  Rome,  200;  via  Siena,  201;  arrival  at 
Piazza  Poli  house,  202,  203;  domestic  arrangements,  204; 


INDEX.  425 

HAWTHOKXE,  MRS.  (continued'). 

evening  amusements,  205 ;  nursing  her  daughter,  206-211 ;  to 
Switzerland,  etc.,  213-218;  England  again,  219-223;  Whitby, 
224,  225 ;  home  at  Redcar,  226-228 ;  Leamington  again,  230, 
231;  note  from  Leigh  Hunt,  232;  Marble  Faun  (Ch.  VII.),  236- 
261;  Bath,  237;  defence  of  her  husband's  story,  246-248;  pho 
tograph  of  Hawthorne,  256-258;  leaving  England,  260,  261; 
Wayside  and  War  (Ch.  VIII.),  262-299;  home  again,  262-265; 
personal  education  of  children,  266;  enlargements,  267,  268; 
anxiety  about  her  husband,  281,  282;  Concord  home  life  de 
scribed,  283-288;  Beginning  of  the  End  (Ch.  IX.),  300-333; 
husband's  skating,  300;  on  the  war,  325,  326;  worried  about 
Hawthorne's  health  again,  331-333;  Conclusion  (Ch.  X.),  334- 
375;  still  anxious,  335;  reports  from  Ticknor  during  Haw 
thorne's  absence,  339-343;  last  parting,  345;  husband's  death 
and  burial,  346-348  ;  a  wife's  gJLpwing  tribute,  352;  to  Germany 
and  England,  353 ;  a  lecture  and  visits,  354;  "  feeling  poorly," 
355;  last  illness,  356-370;  interest  in  her  son,  358,  365;  sink 
ing,  366-368  ;  a  wish  for  flowers,  369,  370;  the  last  breath,  370  ; 
burial,  character,  371;  work  on  her  husband's  manuscripts, 
372. 
HAWTHORNE'S,  MRS.,  published  Notes  in  England  and  Italy:  Old 

Boston  and  Scotland,  ii.  138;  Bright's  opinion,  ii.  251. 
Hawthorne,  Una,  oldest  child  of  Nathaniel :  letter  from  her  aunt  Eliza 
beth  Hawthorne,  i.  8;  birth,  i.  276;  name,  i.  276,  277;  babyhood, 
i.  277-286;  father's  prediction,  i.  295,  296;  childhood,  i.  305-314, 
322-324;  anecdote,  i.  309;  Pastoral  Song,  i.  312;  grandmother's 
chamber,  i.  314;  father's  messages,  i.  325,  326,  328;  trouble  with 
Aunt  Ebe,  i.  328  ;  father's  letter,  i.  329  ;  traits,  i.  332-334;  grandma's 
death,  i.  342-352;  acting,  i.  354;  sledding,  i.  362;  Christian  teaching, 
i.  367,  368;  chamber,  i.  371;  papa's  head,  i.  373,  374;  eggs,  i.  375; 
toilet,  i.  376;  hair,  i.  395,  409;  West  Newton,  i.  408,410;  Julian's 
love,  i.  422;  home  again,  i.  428;  compared  to  Pearl,  i.  438;  tanned, 
i.  437  ;  Aunt  Louisa's  death,  i.  455,  456  ;  Aunt  Elizabeth's  invitation, 
i.  466;  baby  sister,  i.  469;  Melville's  salutations,  i.  475;  baby 
message,  ii.  10  ;  Oona,  ii.  12;  later  travels,  ii.  19  ;  church  in  Liverpool, 
ii.  22;  a  Hebe,  ii.  27;  Ticknor's  gift,  ii.  29;  dinner,  ii.  30;  island 
scenes,  ii.  49-52;  letter  to  grandfather,  ii.  53;  longer  journeys,  ii.  54; 
cheerfulness,  ii.  72;  growing,  ii.  73;  letter  from  aunt,  ii.  101;  Madeira, 
father's  letter,  ii.  102;  return  from  Madeira,  ii.  124,  125;  Channing's 
remembrance,  ii.  132;  riding-lessons,  ii.  134;  interest  in  a  burglary, 
ii.  137;  letter  from  mother,  ii.  138;  measles,  ii.  150;  studies  before 


426  INDEX. 

going  to  Rome,  ii.  172;  Roman  fever,  ii.  200,  204-211;  to  Marseilles, 
ii.216;  missing  cloak,  ii.  232;  manuscript  of  Marble  Faun,  ii.  241 ;  in 
photograph  story,  ii.  257;  letter  from  father,  ii.  259,  260;  schooling, 
ii.  266,  267;  lesson  from  Aunt  Lizzie,  ii.  284;  sewing,  ii.  285;  obser 
vant  of  her  mother,  ii.  287;  Onion,  ii.  288,  299;  letter  from  Washing 
ton,  ii.  309-311;  illness,  visit  to  Beverly,  ii.  324-326;  seaside  trip, 
ii.  331;  letters  from  mother,  ii.  332,  333;  from  Elizabeth  Hawthorne, 
ii.  335,  336;  last  days  with  father,  ii.  345,  346;  his  death,  ii.  348, 
349;  to.  Germany,  ii.  353;  on  her  mother's  illness  and  death,  ii.  354- 
371;  character,  ii.  372;  betrothal,  ii.  373;  weakness  and  death, 
ii.  374. 

Hawthorne,  Major  William,  the  common  ancestor:  immigration,  i.  9; 
traits,  i.  10;  offices,  preaching,  i.  11;  letter  to  Secretary  Morrice,  i.  12- 
24;  ordered  to  England,  i.  12,  13;  copy  of  Arcadia,  i.  34;  allusion, 
i.  84;  book  in  1634,  i.  311. 

Hawthorne,  Captain  William,  Judge  Hawthorne's  capital  invested  with 
him,  i.  26. 

Headache,  i.  203.  (See  various  allusions  to  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  suffering, 
in  the  running  analysis  of  her  life.) 

Heart,  the :  a  cavern,  i.  496 ;  served  with  brain  sauce,  i.  497 ;  carnival 
metaphor,  ii.  180. 

Heaven:  gate,  i.  175,  240;  temperance,  i.  403.     (See  Paradise.) 

Hebe,  Una  a,  ii.  27. 

Hebrew,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  study  of. the  tongue,  i.  40. 

Hemenway,  Mrs.  Augustus,  letter,  ii.  357. 

Heraldry,  Hawthorne  family,  i.  8. 

Hercules,  classic  allusion,  i.  473. 

Heredity,  i.  2.     (See  Ancestry.) 

Hermann  and  Dorothea,  translation,  i.  263. 

Hermitage,  Howitt  villa,  ii.  47. 

Heywood  Family:  English  friends  of  Hawthorne,  ii.  33,  65,  80;  fancy 
ball,  ii.  38,  39;  dinners,  ii.  129,  223;  on  Hawthorne's  portrayal  of 
English  ladies,  ii.  279. 

Higginson,  Nathaniel,  in  will,  i.  27. 

Highgate  Rise,  Eng.,  Howitt  residence,  ii.  47. 

Hildreth,  Richard,  i.  382. 

Hill,  Landlord,  and  family,  ii.  317-321. 

Hillard,  George  Stillman:  walk,  i.  219,  220;  London  brother,  i.  221; 
on  Una  Hawthorne's  birth,  i.  276,  277;  Concord  walk,  i.  290;  tes 
timonial,  i.  354,  355;  on  Hawthorne's  books,  i.  447,  448.  (See 
Letters.) 

Hillsboro',  N.  H.,  letter,  i.  153,  154. 


INDEX.  427 

Hindoo  seclusion,  i.  4, 182. 

Historian,  proposed  appointment  of,  i,  131,  153,  158,  162. 

Histories:  Adams,  of  New  England,  Rollins's  Ancient,  United  States, 
i.  61;  of  Happiness,  i.  246;  Roman  Revolution,  i.  260. 

Hitchcock,  Ethan  Allen,  Hermetic  Library,  ii.  326. 

Hoar,  Elizabeth,  estimate  of  Hawthorne,  i.  270,  271. 

Hobson's  choice,  allusion,  i.  108. 

Hodgson,  Land-agent,  i.  152,  153. 

Holborn,  London,  Hawthorne  lost  in,  ii.  107. 

Holland,  Josiah  Gilbert,  his  Bitter-Sweet,  ii.  295. 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell:  literary  contributions,  i.  382;  .club-member, 
ii.  276;  consultation,  ii.  337,  338,  348;  pall-bearer,  ii.  348. 

Holy  Family,  picture,  i.  286. 

Home,  arena  of  woman,  i.  257.     (See  Household.) 

Homer:  made  Greece,  i.  167;  combats,  ii.  45. 

Homo3opathy :  Peabody's  pharmacy,  i.  60 ;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  preference, 
ii.  128. 

Horseback:  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  exercise,  i.  72;  Tupper's  riding,  ii.  115; 
Julian's  and  Una's,  ii.  134;  Italian,  ii.  175. 

Hosmer.  of  Concord,  and  Emerson,  i.  290,  291. 

Hosmer,  Edward,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  friend,  ii.  357. 

Hosmer,  Harriet,  in  Rome,  ii.  188. 

Hotels:  extortions,  ii.  28;  George  the  Fourth  inn,  ii.  138-141;  Coventry, 
ii.  148,  149;  Italian,  ii.  190;  Civita  Vecchia,  ii.  215;  Avignon,  ii.  217; 
Byron,  ii.  219;  in  Maine,  ii.  316-321;  Astor  House,  ii.  339-342;  Phil 
adelphia,  ii.  343,  344. 

Hotspur,  allusion,  i.  45. 

Houghton,  Lord  (Milnes):  his  kindness  to  Hawthorne,  ii.  57,  58;  wife, 
ii.  129;  breakfast,  ii.  223;  treatment  of  sailors,  ii.  226-228;  on 
Marble  Faun,  ii.  243,  244;  breakfast,  ii.  256;  wife,  ii.  258;  sympathy 
with  the  North,  ii.  279;  likes  Holland's  Bitter-Sweet,  ii.  295. 

Household,  special  lore,  i.  68.     (See  Home.) 

Housekeepers,  old,  i.  250,  251. 

How,  Sergeant-Major,  ii.  326. 

Howard,  John,  prison-reformer,  i.  401. 

Howard,  John  D.,  Salem  letter,  i.  364-366. 

Howe,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  message  to,  i.  108. 

Howe,  Samuel  Gridley,  a  thunderbolt  thinking,  ii.  97. 

Howes,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  :  call  at  their  cottage,  i.  79,  80 ;  publication  pro 
posed,  i.  142;  trying  Hawthorne's  temper,  i.  485. 
Howitt,  William  and  Mary,  civilities  with  Hawthorne,  ii.  47-49,  116. 
Hudson  River,  burned  steamship,  i.  454,  455. 


428  INDEX. 

Hughes,  Thomas :  reading  Tennyson,  ii.  223 ;  sympathy  with  the  North, 

ii.  279;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  last  tea,  ii.  354. 
Hume,  Mrs.,  poor  boarding-house,  ii.  125-128. 
Humility,  of  a  conqueror,  i.  4. 
Humorists,  compared  with  Hawthorne,  ii.  4. 
Hunt  Family  connection  with  the  Peabodies,  i.  45,  46. 
Hunt,  Leigh  :  good  weather,  i.  434;  letter  to  Hawthorne,  ii.  233. 
Hunters,  metaphor,  i.  92. 
Hypocrisy,  illustrated,  i.  495. 


"ICELAND,  allusion,  i.  432. 

-1     Ideality,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's,  i.  79. 

Idiosyncrasy,  of  Hawthorne  and  wife.  i.  247. 

Imagination:  a  safety-valve  for  Hawthorne,  i.  7  ;  his  temperament,  i.  39. 

Immortality:  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  belief,  i.  191;  Hawthorne's  faith,  i.  207, 

208  ;  Mrs.  Hawthorne  always  in,  i.  226  ;  Miss  Martineau's  denial, 

ii.  27.     (See  Heaven,  Paradise,  Religion.') 
India:  bric-a-brac,  i.  368;  poisonous  dart,  i.  491. 
Indians  :    fight  with  Major  William   Hawthorne,   i.  10  ;   Manhattoes, 

i.  14;  threatening,  i.  20  ;   wood-places,  i.  374;  Tennyson's  gait,  ii. 

145. 

Indicator,  The,  allusion,  ii.  232. 
Indolence,  Hawthorne's,  i.  122,  123. 
Insanity,  in  Hawthorne  Family,  i.  9. 
Insects,  in  vision,  i.  498-505  passim. 
Inspectors,  in  Salem  custom-house,  ii.  382-385. 

Intellectuality :  and  depravity,  i.  3;  Hawthorne's  opinion  of  its  inferior 
ity  to  moral  character,  i.  42. 
Intoxicants  :  Hawthorne's  habits,  i.  85-88,   120 ;   use  in  Washington, 

i.  462;  Webster's  habits,  i.  479;  Pierce's,  i.  483;  Burns's  sons,  ii.  34, 

35;  Moore  dinner,  ii.  41,  42.     (See  Drunkenness,  Table,  Wine.) 
Invisible  Cap,  Hawthorne's,  i.  247. 
Ionia,  Greece,  allusion,  i.  472. 
Ireland,  Mr.,  opinion  about,  ii.  122,  123  ;  associate  of  Hawthorne,  ii. 

143.  145. 
Ireland:  birds,  i.  272;  beggars,  i.  318;  De  Quincey  family,  ii.  6,  7; 

reviving,  ii.  29;  jaunt  in  the  Channel,  ii.  49-52  ;  Allingham's  letter, 

ii.  66,  67. 
Irish :  families  in  Hawthorne  homestead,  i.  96 ;  O'Sullivan's  traits,  i.  160; 

cabin,  i.  362 ;  officers,  ii.  107. 
Irving,  Edward,  followers'  chapel,  ii.  112. 


INDEX.  429 

Irving,  "Washington:  kind  letter,  i.  440;  compared  with  Hawthorne, 
ii.  234,  235.  (See  Letters.) 

Isle  of  Man,  visit,  ii.  49-52,  54. 

Isles  of  Shoals:  visit,  i.  457,  466;  in  story,  i.  475. 

Isleworth,  villa,  i.  489. 

Isola,  picture,  i.  213. 

Italy :  Spiritualist  experience  in  Florence,  i.  30 ;  Roman  journal,  i.  259- 
262;  letter  from  Curtis,  i.  314-322;  beggars,  i.  318;  longing  for, 
i.  429  ;  Channing's  allusions,  i.  434;  Hawthorne's  journals,  ii.  3;  cli 
mate,  ii.  4;  proposed  visit,  ii.  66,  67,  146,  151;  residence,  ii.  165, 
170-202  (CH.  v.)  passim;  Hawthorne's  fondness  for,  ii.  170-172; 
no  means  of  keeping  warm,  ii.  173,  176;  a  corpse,  ii.  176;  faces, 
ii.  180;  landscape,  railway,  ii.  189;  lazy  luxury,  ii.  191;  churches, 
ii.  192;  sentiment,  ii.  204;  final  sojourn,  ii.  205-217;  wines,  ii. 
217  ;  Hawthorne's  absorption,  ii.  247;  criticism  in  Marble  Faun, 
ii.  265. 

Italian  Language:  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  study,  i.  62,  63 ;  Julian's  knowl 
edge,  ii.  212,  213,  266. 

Itch,  of  conscience,  ii.  43. 


JACK-KNIFE,  allusion,  ii.  43. 
Jackstraws,  i.  419. 
James,  G.  P.  R. :  identity,  i.  362;  note  of  invitation,  i.  397,  398;  call, 

i.  415;  allusion,  i.  417;  in  the  rain,  with  family,  i.  422-424. 
Jameson,  Mrs.  Anna,  friendship,  ii.  188. 
Jane  Eyre,  sensation,  i.  409. 
Jay,  John,  sailor  question,  ii.  227. 
Jealousy,  of  books,  i.  248. 
Jena  University,  Professor  Wolff,  i.  133. 
Jerdan,  William,  Bennoch's  dislike,  ii.  105. 
Jerrold,  Douglas,  opinion  about  Hall,  ii.  118. 
Jersey  Island,  ii.  50. 
Jew,  Wandering,  i.  495,  496. 
Jewel,  in  a  corpse,  i.  490. 
Jewsbury,  Geraldine  Endsor,  interview,  ii.  129. 

J ," Helen,  fate,  i.  136. 

John  Bull:  allusion,  i.  108;  an  oak,  ii.  63;  dress,  ii.  70;  lifelessness, 

ii.  74  ;  humanity,  ii.  152. 
Johnson,  Captain,  jest,  ii.  74. 

Johnson,  Samuel  :  tea-drinking,  i.  88;  London  haunts,  ii.  72. 
Johnstone,  Major,  teaching  broadsword  exercise,  ii.  266. 


430  INDEX. 

Journals  :  Sophia  Peabody's  at  Declham,  i.  75-81,  183 ;  Queen  of  Jour- 
nalizers,  i.  192 ;  first  year  of  marriage,  i.  288  et  seq.  ;  of  drowned 
girl,  i.  303;  family  diary  begun  in  Concord,  i.  324;  continued,  i.  332 
et  seq.  ;  Madame  Hawthorne's  death,  i.  342-351;  in  Europe,  ii.  3  ; 
Mrs.  Hawthorne's,  ii.  16,  17,  23  ;  confided  to  Bright,  ii.  168,  169; 
English  and  Continental,  ii.  219  ;  habit  continued  in  America,  ii.  303; 
Maine,  ii.  315-321;  English,  in  Atlantic  Monthly,  ii.  328;  Una's, 
ii.  353-372.  (Extracts  from  these  Journals  occur  continually  through 
the  rest  of  the  volumes,  but  cannot  always  be  accurately  pointed  out.) 

Judgment  Day,  i.  299. 

Julius  the  Third,  statue,  ii.  196. 

Jupiter  Olympus:  of  intellect,  i.  404;  combats,  ii.  45. 


KEAX,  CHARLES,  as  Louis  the  Eleventh,  ii.  107. 
Kellog,  Gardner,  unpropitious  acquaintance,  i.  112. 

Kemble,  Fanny:  Lenox  neighbor,  i.  362,  363;  word  from  London,  cot 
tage  in  Lenox,  i.  409;  Mrs.  Butler,  i.  441. 

Kendal,  Duchess  of,  raven  story,  i.  489. 

Kensal  Green:  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  burial,  ii.  371;  Una's,  ii.  374. 

Kensington  Gardens,  London,  a  drive,  ii.  359,  360. 

Kentucky,  spring,  i.  493. 

Kersler,  Baron,  royal  physician,  ii.  98. 

Kettle  Cove,  Mass.,  Elizabeth  Hawthorne's  sojourn,  i.  439. 

King,  Mr.,  politician,  ii.  379. 

King's  Beach,  Mass.,  i.  128. 

Kirkland,  Caroline  Matilda  Stansbury,  Eastern  travels,  i.  185. 

Kirk  Madden,  Eng.,  description,  ii.  50. 

Kiss  in  the  Ring,  described,  ii.  307,  308. 

Kitchen,  French  king's,  annals,  i.  494. 

Knickerbocker,  The:  Hawthorne's  early  contributions,  i.  131,  132,  140  ; 
list,  i.  176. 

Knights,  Captain,  opinion  of  Captain  Hawthorne,  i.  182. 

Kortright,  Fanny  Aikin,  on  Our  Old  Home,  ii.  305,  306.     (See  Letters, 
Aikin.) 

Kossuth,  Louis,  arrival  in  America,  i.  430,  431. 


LABOR,  its  value,  i.  263. 
Lakes,  English:  books  about,  ii.  25;  Lakes  to  London  (Ch.  II.), 

ii.  40-73;  special  mention,  ii.  64,  65. 
Lake  Superior,  in  Berkshire,  i.  374. 


INDEX.  431 

Lamb,  Charles,  compared  with  Hawthorne,  i.  441,  ii.  4. 

Lancaster,  Mass.:  the  Peabody  school,  i.  61;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  visit, 

i.  67. 

Lander,  Louisa,  bust  of  Hawthorne,  ii.  182,  183. 

Langdon,  Mary,  connected  with  the  Hunt  and  Peabody  families,  i.  45. 
Langtree  &  O'Sullivan,  Washington  publishers,  i.  160.     (See  Letters.) 
Lanman,  Librarian,  i.  461. 
Lansdowne  Circus,  residence,  ii.  146-150,  230. 
Lansdowne,  Lord,  interview,  ii.  129,  130. 
Latin  Language :   Mrs.  Hawthorne's  study,  i.  40;  Colonel  Wildman's, 

ii.  139;  Julian's,  ii.  266. 
Law,  Hawthorne's  dislike,  i.  107. 
Lawrence's  Life  of  Fielding,  ii.  121. 
Leach,  Mr.,  invitation,  i.  118. 

Leach  (or  Leitch),  Captain,  on  Cunard  line,  i.  487,  ii.  13,  261. 
Leamington,  Eng. :  trip,  ii.  62-64,  125 ;  residence  of  two  months,  ii.  146- 

150  ;  another  visit,  ii.  230-232,  236,  237. 
Leaves,  autumnal,  in  England,  ii.  43. 
Lee  Family,  allusions,  i.  155,  302. 
Leeds,  Eng.,  lectures,  ii.  281. 

Leghorn,  Italy:  uninteresting,  ii.  175;  in  transit,  ii.  214-216. 
Leigh,  Mrs.  Augusta,  ii.  140,  141.     (See  Byron.) 

Lenox,  Mass. :  Hawthorne  residence,  i.  357-436  passim  ;  red  house,  i.  361, 
366,  375,  411,  429;  neighbors,  i.  362,  363;  Twenty  Days  with  Julian 
and  Bumn",  i.  412-428;  good  wishes,  5.  450. 

Letters:    character  of  Hawthorne's,  i.  91;   anonymous,  i.  169;   Payne's, 
i.  194;    Mi-s.  Hawthorne's  burned,  i.  209;   American,  i.  259;  Julian 
Hawthorne's  from  Liverpool,  ii.  19. 
LETTERS,  LIST  OF. 

Aikin,  Berkeley :  — 

To  Hawthorne  — English  women  and  Marble  Faun,  ii.  305,  306. 
Allingham,  William :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  Liverpool,  1855  —  sympathy  with  Hawthorne's 

uneasiness,  ii.  67. 
Bennoch,  Francis :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  London,  Aug.,  1861  — the  War,  ii.  292-294;  — 

fruit,  English  women,  ii  307-309. 
Bbtta,  Amelie :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  Dresden,  July,  1852  —  German  translations, 

i.  442,  443. 
Bowditch,  Charles  S. :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  Boston,  Dec.,  1851  —  praise,  i.  450. 


432  INDEX. 

LETTERS  (continued). 

Bridge,  Horace :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  Havannah,  Feb.,  1836  —  congratulations,  i. 
133,  134;  Augusta,  May,  1836  —  friendly  chat,  i.  135-137; 
Augusta,  Sept.,  1836  —  literary  suggestions,  i.  138,  139; 
Augusta,  Oct.,  1836  — notice  for  The  Post,  i.  140,  141; 
Augusta,  Nov.,  1836  —  cautions,  i.  142, 143;  Augusta,  Dec., 
1836  —  encouragement,  i.  146-148;  Augusta,  Feb.,  1837  — 
works,  i.  148-150;  Augusta,  March,  1837  —  Twice-Told 
Tales,  i.  151,  152  ;  Augusta,  March,  1837  —  South  Sea  pro 
ject,  i.  152,  153;  Augusta,  April,  1837  —  South  Sea  Expe 
dition,  i.  157,  158;  Boston,  April,  1837  —  plans,  i.  161; 
Augusta,  May,  1837 —  Expedition,  i.  162-164. 
To  Mrs.  Hawthorne  —  irony,  i.  282,  283. 
Bright,  Henry  A. :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  Coniston,  Sept.,  1853  —  account  of  several  lit 
erary  people,  ii.  23-26;  Liverpool,  July,  1859  —  protection 
of  sailors,  ii.  226,  227;  West  Derby,  Sept.,  1859  —literary 
chat,  ii.  228-230;  — on  Marble  Faun,  ii.  239,  240;  1859  — 
about  a  manuscript,  ii.  243;  May,  1860  —  about  photo 
graph,  ii.  258; — London  Exhibition,  ii.  278,  279; — Our 
Old  Home  and  the  War,  ii.  278-281;  Sept.,  1861  — the 
War,  ii.  295,  296. 

To  Julian  Hawthorne  —  treatment  of    sailors,   ii.  151,   152; 
1864,  Hawthorne's  death,  ii.  350,  351;  —with  Hawthorne 
in  London,  ii.  223. 
Carter,  Robert :  — 

To  Hawthorne,    Cambridge,    Feb.,    1853  —  Wonder-Book,   i. 

471-474. 
Cass,  General  Lewis :  — 

To  Hawthorne:    Washington,   Sept.,  1857  — official  matters, 
ii.  161,  162  ;  Washington,  Sept.,  1857  —  acceptance  of  re 
signation,  ii.  163. 
Channing,  W.  Ellery :  — 

To  Hawthorne:  Concord,  Dec.,  1851  — invitation,  i.  432,  433; 
Concord,  Dec.,  1851  — plans  for  travel,   i.  433-435;  Con 
cord,  Sept.,  1860  — Sanborn's  school,  ii.  264,  265. 
Channing,  W.  H. :  — 

To  Mrs.  Hawthorne:  Liverpool,  1856  —  about  Julian,  ii.  132, 

133:  Dec.,  1857  —  parting  words,  ii.  167,  168. 
Chorley,  Henry:  — 

To  Hawthorne,  London  —  courtesy,  ii.  224. 


INDEX.  433 

LETTERS  (continued). 

Cilley,  Jonathan :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  Thomaston,  Nov.,  1836  —  suggestions,  i.  144, 

145. 
Clark,  S.  Gaylord :  — 

To  Hawthorne:   New  York,  Jan.,   1836  —  on    contributions, 
i.  133;   New  York,   Oct.,   1836  — an  invitation  to  print, 
i.  141. 
Craig,  Mrs.  M. :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  Tipperary,  Nov.,  1854  —  invitation,  ii.  7,  8. 
Curtis,  George  A. :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  Boston,  1836  —  payment,  i.  137. 
Curtis,  George  William:  — 

To   Hawthorne,    Salerno,    May,    1847  —  Italian    experiences, 

i.  315-322. 
De  Quincey,  Florence :  — 

To  a  friend,  Hawthorne's  superiority,  ii.  4,  5. 

To  Hawthorne,  Pegsboro',  Tipperary,  Ireland,   Nov.,  1854  — 

apologies  fora  delayed  letter,  ii.  6,  7. 
Dexter,  Samuel :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  Boston,  May,  1837  — inquiry,  i.  163. 
Emerson,  R.  W. :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  Concord,  Dec.,   1850 — invitation  to  literary 

work,  i.  381,  382. 
Goodrich,  S.  G. :  — 

To  Hawthorne :  Hartford,  Jan.,  1831 — offers   to  print,  i.  131, 
132;   May,   1831 —  publications,  i.  131,  132;  Boston,  Sept., 

1836  —  Universal   History,  i.  138;    Boston,  Nov.,   1836  — 
stories,  i.  142;  Boston,  Dec.,  1836  — Tales,  i.  146;   Boston, 
Feb.,    1837— Twice-Told  Tales,-  i.   150;    Boston,    April, 

1837  — ditto,  i.  157,  158. 
Hall,  Mrs.  Anna  M. :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  I860  — on  Marble  Faun,  ii.  248,  249. 
Hawthorne,  Elizabeth  M. :  — 

To  her  brother  Nathaniel :    Montserrat  —  life  there,  i.  438-^440; 
Salem,  Sept.,  1852  —  Pierce  Biography,  i.  465,  466. 

To- Sophia  Peabody,  Salem,  1838—  good-will,'i.  193,  194. 

To  her  niece,  1865  — family  history,  i.  98-101. 

To  Una  Hawthorne,  1862*— the  War,  ii.   324,  325,   327-329; 
father's  health,  ii.  335,  336;  March,  1864  —  proposed  jour 
ney,  ii.  336,  337;   May,  1864  — Hawthorne's  death,  ii.  348, 
349. 
VOL.  ii.  28 


434  INDEX. 

LETTERS  (continued). 

Hawthorne,  M.  Louisa :  — 

To  her  brother  Nathaniel,  Salem,  June,  1841  —  about  Broolc 
Farm,  i.  231-234;  Salem,  Aug.,  1841— family  matters, 
i.  234,  235;  Salem,  July,  1852  —  family  matters,  i.  453,  454. 

To  her  brother's  wife,  Salem,  Aug.,  1850  —  about  her  sister 

Elizabeth,  i.  437,  438. 
Hawthorne,  Nathaniel :  — 

To  his  mother,  Salem,  March,  1821  —  college  and  family, 
i.  106-108. 

To  his  aunt,  Brunswick,  Nov.,  1824— religion  in  college, 
i.  116,  117. 

To  his  sister  Elizabeth,  Brunswick,  1825  —  home  matters, 
i.  117-119;  Lenox,  March,  1851  — the  Gables,  i.  389,  390; 
Liverpool,  Feb.,  1856  —  family  report,  ii.  102;— with  an 
essay,  ii.  314. 

To  his  sister  Louisa:  Salem,  Sept.,  1819  —  reading  and  poetry, 
i.  105,  106 ;  Brunswick,  April,  1822  —  college  life,  i.  109, 
110;  Brunswick,  May,  1823  —  vacation  matters,  i.  110, 
111;  Brunswick,  1823  —  Kellog  interview,  i.  112,  113; 
Brunswick,  Aug.,  1824  —  anxiety  for  absence,  i.  113-115; 
Salem,  Nov.,  1831  —  little  matters,  i.  126,  127;  Brook 
Farm,  May,  1841  — bucolic  life,  i.  227,  228;  Lenox,  May, 
1851  — second  daughter,  i;  395,  396;  Lenox,  July,  1851  — 
personal,  i.  408-410. 

To  Sophia  Peabody:  Boston,  April,  1839  — high  ideas,  i.  202- 
204;  May,  1839  —  religious  love,  i.  205,  206;  Boston,  July, 
1839  — sympathy,  i.  206,  207;  Nov.,  1839  — comfort,  i.  207; 
Nov.,  1839  —  George's  death,  i.  207,  21)8;  Jan.,  1840— a 
future  home,  i.  210,  211;  Jan.,  1840  — a  picture,  i.  211- 
213;  Feb.,  1840  —  evening  meditations,  i.  213;  Boston, 
March,  1840  —  heaviness,  Father  Taylor,  i.  213-215;  Boston, 
April,  1840  —  drudgery,  i.  215,  216;  April,  1840  — a  party, 
i.  216;  June,  3840  —her  relation  to  his  sisters,  i.  217,  218; 
June,  1840  —  a  beautiful  letter,  walk  with  Hillard,  i.  218- 
221 ;  Boston,  July,  1840  —  visitors,  i.  221,  222;  Boston,  Oct., 
1840— her  influence,  i.  222,  223;  Nov.,  1840  — light  of  his 
life,  i.  223-225  ;  Salem,  Jan.,  1841  —  sunshine  of  her  letters, 
i.  226;  Brook  Farm,  Aug.,  1841  — anxiety,  i.  236,  237; 
Brook  Farm,  Aug.,  1841— loneliness,  i.  237;  Salem,  Sept., 
1841  — angelic  words,  i.  237,  238;  Boston,  May,  1842—  his 
sisters,  i.  238,  239;  Salem,  June,  1842  —his  mother's  inter- 


INDEX.  435 

LETTERS  (continued). 

est,  i.  239,  240;  Salem,  June,  1842  —  approaching  marriage, 
i.  241,  242;  (after  marriage)  Salem,  March,  1843  —  cautions, 
Mr.  Upham,  i.  293,  294;  Salem,  Dec.,  1844  —  separation, 
i.  295,  296;  Salem,  June,  1848  — her  absence,  i.  325,  326; 
Salem,  July,  1848  —separation,  i.  326-328;  Liverpool,  July, 
1854  — Isle  of  Man,  ii.  51,  52. 

To  his  daughter  Una:  Salem,  June,  1848  — child  talk,  i.  329; 
Liverpool,  March,  1856  —  about  Julian,  ii.  102,  103;  Cam 
bridge,  Eng.,  May,  1860  —  experiences,  ii.  259,  260;  West 
Beach,  Beverly,  July,  1861— country  life,  ii.  288-290; 
Washington,  March,  18G2  —  war  scenes,  ii.  309-311. 

To  his  son,  Liverpool,  Aug.,  1856  —  good  dinners,  ii.  133,  134. 

To ,  a  youthful  production,  i.  104. 

To  F.  Bennoch  —  about  the  War,  ii.  291,  292. 

To  Horatio  Bridge,  Concord,  May,  1861  —  the  War,  ii.  276,  277. 

To  Henry  A.  Bright:  Liverpool,  July,  1855  —  discontent  with 
surroundings,  ii.  65  ;  1859  — on  Marble  Faun,  ii.  241,  242  ; 
Bath,  May,  18GO  —  on  the  Faun,  ii.  255;  Eome,  April, 
1859  — sufferings  of  seamen,  ii.  152;  —  about  certain  diaries, 
ii.  168,  169. 

To  Secretary  Cass,  Liverpool,  June,  1857  —  treatment  of 
sailors,  ii.  152-161. 

To  Margaret  Fuller,  Concord,  Aug.,  1842  —  boarders,  i.  252-256. 

To  Horace  Mann:  Salem,  June,  July,  Aug.,  1849 — removal 
from  the  surveyorship  (Appendix),  ii.  375-385. 

To  Provincial  Assembly  [of  churches]  of  Lancashire  and 
Cheshire,  Liverpool,  June,  1855  —  liberal  religion  in  Amer 
ica,  ii.  61,  62. 

To    R.   H.   Stoddard,  Concord,  March,   1853  —  office-seeking, 

i.  461,  462. 
Hawthorne,  Mrs. :  — 

To  her  father:  Concord,  Feb.,  1853  —  Hawthorne's  English 
admirers,  ii.  10;  Concord,  May,  1853  —  expected  voyage, 
ii.  11-14;  Liverpool  —  Mr.  Bright's  gossip,  ii.  26-29  ;  — 
household  affairs,'  ii.  30-32;  Liverpool,  Jan.,  1855  —  har 
bingers  of  summer,  European  political  troubles,  fancv  ball, 
ii.  36-38;  Liverpool,  Aug.,  1855  —  cricket-match,  ii.  54-56. 

To  her  mother:  Carlyle  and  Margaret  Fuller,  i.  256,  257;  April, 
1845  — Fourier,  i.  268,  269;  Concord,  Oct.,  1842  — hus 
band's  seclusion,  i.  270-272;  April,  1843  —  home  delights, 
i.  272,  273;  Dec.,  1843  — cook's  holiday,  i.  273,  274;  Feb., 


436  INDEX. 

LETTERS  (continued). 

1844  —  cold,  i.  274,  275;  Concord,  April,  1844  — Una's 
babyhood,  i.  277-280;  May,  1845  —  college  friends,  i.  280, 
281;  Sept.,  1845  —  removal  to  Salem,  i.  286,  287;  Salem, 
Jan.,  1846  — family  details,  i.  306-308;  Salem,  March, 
1846  — their  child,  i.  308,  309;  Salem,  Nov.,  1846  — home 
life,  i.  310,  311;  April,  1847  — a  dress,  i.  311,  312;  Salem, 
Sept.,  1847  —  Mall  St.  house,  i.  312-314;  Nov.,  1847  —  baby 
Julian,  i.  323,  324;  Salem,  Dec.,  1848  —  Elizabeth's  book, 
i.  330,  331 ;  Salem,  Aug.,  1849  —  Madame  Hawthorne's  death, 
i.  351,  352;  Salem,  Sept.,  1849  —  domestic  efforts,  i.  353, 
354;  Lenox  —  getting  settled,  i.  363,  364;  Lenox,  June, 
1850 — home  life,  i.  366-372;  —  eulogium  on  husband,  i.  372- 
375;  —  a  winter's  day,  i.  375-377;  —  intrusive  strangers, 
i.  377,  378;— mother's  birthday,  i.  378-380;  — Elizabeth  Pea- 
body,  i.  380,  381;  Jan.,  1851  — the  Gables  completed,  i.  283; 
Feb.,  1851  — published,  i.  383;  Lenox,  April,  1851  — another 
child,  i.  394;  Concord,  July,  1852  —  death  of  Louisa,  i.  454- 
456;  Concord,  Sept.,  1852  — Life  of  Pierce,  i.  464;  Concord, 
Oct.,  1852  —a  walk,  i.  466,  467;  Dec.,  1852  — Rosebud, 
i.  469,  470 ;  — Webster,  i.  478-481 ;  — Pierce,  i.  481-485. 

To  her  sister  Elizabeth  Peabody,  July-Sept.,  1838  — early 
acquaintance  with  Hawthorne,  i.  183-193. 

To  her  husband:  Dec.,  1839  —  allumettes  and  beauty,  i.  208, 
209;  Concord,  July,  1861— about  his  health,  ii.  282-288. 

To  her  daughter  Una:  Concord,  Dec.,  1862  —  War-times,  ii.  325, 
326;  Sept.,  1863  — family  matters,  ii.  331;  Concord,  Dec., 
1863  —  father's  health,  ii.  332,  333. 

To  her  son:  Lisbon,  Oct.,  1855  —  descriptive,  ii.  79-82;  Lis 
bon,  Nov.,  1855  —  ballet  and  Court,  ii.  83,  84;  Lisbon,  Jan., 
1856  — royalty  and  nobility,  ii.  84-101. 

To ,  Rome,  1858  — fine  description  of  Perugino's  Depo 
sition  from  the  Cross,  ii.  194,  195;  1864  —  Hawthorne's 
character,  ii.  352,  353. 

To  Henry  Chorley,  1859  —  on  Marble  Faun,  ii.  246,  247. 
Hawthorne,  Major  William :  — 

To  Secretary  Morrice,   Mass.,  Oct.,  1666  —  political,  i.  13-24 

(Samuel  Nadhorth). 
Hillard,  George  S. :  — 

To  Hawthorne:  March,  1844  — first-born,  i.  276,  277;  Boston, 
Jan.,  1850  — a  gift,  i.  354,  355;  Boston,  July,  1852  — 
friendly  words,  i.  448. 


INDEX.  437 

LETTERS  (continued). 

Houghton,  Lord :  — 

To  Hawthorne :  Crewe,  Nov.,  1854  —  invitation,  ii.  58 ;  1859  — 

on  Marble  Faun,  ii.  244. 
Howard,  John  D. :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  Salem,  March,  1850 —compliments, i.  364-366. 
Howitt,  Mary:  — 

To  Hawthorne,   Hermitage,   May,  1854  —  complimentary,  ii. 

47,  48. 
Hunt,  Leigh:  — 

To  Mr.  and  Mrs.   Hawthorne,    London,   1859 — returning  a 

cloak,  ii.  2-32. 
Irving,  Washington :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  1852  — thanks,  i.  440. 
James,  G.  P.  R.:  — 

To  Hawthorne  —  invitation,  i.  397,  398. 
Langtree  &  O' Sullivan:  — 

To  Hawthorne  — about  a  new  magazine,  i,  159,  160. 
Litclifield,  Sallie :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  Hartford,  April,  1851  —  enthusiasm,  i.  393. 
Longfellow,  H.  W.:  — 

To  Bright,  Nahant,  July,  1864  —  Hawthorne's  death,  ii.  349,  350. 
To  Hawthorne,  Naliant  —  congratulations,  i.  384. 
Lowell,  J.  R. :  — 

To  Hawthorne,    Cambridge,   April,   1851  —  compliments^   i. 

390-392. 
Lowell,  Maria:  — 

To  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  Philadelphia,  Jan.,  1845  —  J.  R.  Lowell's 

prospects,  i.  283,  284. 
Lucas,  Samuel :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  London,  Nov.,  1859  —  business  proposals,  ii. 

233-235. 
Melville,  Herman :  — 

To  Hawthorne:  Pittsfield  —  works  and  character,  i.  385-389; 
Pittsfield,  June,  1851  —  self,  i.  398-400 ;  —  literary  matters, 
i.  400-407;  Boston  —  a  new  story,  i.  475. 
Mitchell,  Donald  G.:  — 

To  Hawthorne,  New  Haven,  Juty,  1862  — the  War,  ii.  312. 
Mitford,  Mary  R.  :  — 
.   To  Hawthorne,  1854  —  admiration,  ii.  35. 
Morris,  George  U.  :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  March,  1863  — the  War  article,  ii.  313,  314. 


438  INDEX. 

LETTERS  (continued). 

Oakes,  James  :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  Boston,  Oct.,  1861  —  Long  Wharf,  ii.  299. 
O'Sullivan,  John  L.  :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  New  York,  March,  1845  —  consulates,  i.  284, 

285. 
Peabody,  Dr. :  — 

To  his  daughter  Sophia:  Boston,  June,  1849  — loss  of  office, 
i.  336-338;  — Amherst,  July,  1854  (just  before  his  death)  — 
a  dream  of  Hawthorne's  return  from  Europe,  ii.  52,  53. 
Peabody,  Mrs.  :  — 

To  her  daughter  Sophia:  1827  — on  a  visit,  i.  G6,  67;  —  1827 
—  on  household  affection,  i.  67-69;  1827 — family  troubles, 
i.  69-71;  July,  1842  —  just  after  the  marriage,  i.  250,  251 ;  — 
Margaret  Fuller's  book,  i.  258;  —  the  blessing  of  effort,  i. 
263,264;  —  Hawthorne's  home  and  works,  i.  264-267; 
Boston,  March,  1845  —  Fourierism,  i.  267,  268;  — death  of 
Allston,  i.  269,  270;  Boston,  1849  — Elizabeth's  book, 
i.  332;  Hawthorne's  loss  of  office,  i.  338,  339 ;  — compari 
son  of  Hawthorne  with  Shakspeare,  i.  384,  385;  Boston  — 
literary  praise,  i.  449;  Aug.  1852  —  consolation,  i.  457,458. 
Peabody,  Elizabeth  P. :  — 

To  her  sister  Sophia —  mother's  death,  i.  485-487. 

To ,  sketch  of  Hawthorne,  i.  177-182. 

To  Louisa  Hawthorne  —  Nathaniel's  character,  i.  165-167. 
Pierce,  Franklin  :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  Washington,  March,  1835  —  congratulations, 
i.  134,  135;  Hillsboro',  March,  1828  —  South  Sea  Expedi 
tion,  i.  153,  154. 

To  J.  N.  Reynolds,  Hillsboro',  March,  1837—  South  Sea  Expe 
dition,  i.  154-156. 
Pike,  Wm.  B.  :  — 

To    Hawthorne,   Salem,    July,   1852  —  friendly  criticism,    i. 

444-4  17. 
Procter,  B.  W. :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  London,  Nov.,  1851  —  presentation,  i.  440,  441, 
Russell,  J.  B. :  — 

To  Hawthorne,   Boston,    Dec.,  1836  — printing,  i.  146;   Bos 
ton,  March,  1837  —  Twice-Told  Tales,  i.  150,  151. 
Sturgis,  Russell :  — 

To  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  London,  Dec.,  1854  —  finding  the  consul, 
ii.  60. 


INDEX.  439 

LETTERS  (continued). 

Ticknor,  William  D. :  — 

To  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  New  York,  March,  1864  — his  friend's 

health,  ii.  339-343. 
Tuckerman,  F.  G. :  — 

To  Hawthorne,   Greenfield,  April,    1861  —  about  the  writer's 

poems,  ii.  273-275. 
Warren,  Samuel :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  London,  April,  1854  —  with  a  book,  ii.  43,  44. 
Whittier,  John  G. :  — 

To  Hawthorne,  Amesbury,  Feb.,  1850  —  The  Era,  i.  355,  356. 
Wilding,  Henry :  — 

To  Hawthorne:  Liverpool,  May,  1858  —  consulate  finance?, 
ii.  163-165;  Liverpool,  Nov.,  1861  —  accounts,  ii.  165,  166; 
1861  — the  War,  ii.  297,  298. 

Leutze,  Emanuel,  paints  Hawthorne's  portrait,  ii.  309. 
Libby  Prison,  comparison,  ii.  127. 
Liberty:   colonial   regard,    i.  18;   spirit  of  Nadhorth   letter,   i.  13-24; 

in  religion,  ii.  61. 
Lichfield,  Eng.,  visit,  ii.  64. 
Life,  a  long,  i.  489. 
Lillington,  Eng.,  walk,  ii.  230,  231. 
Limpets,  human,  ii.  67. 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  the  War  President,  ii.  293,  294,  309,  310. 
Lind,  Jenny  :  cost  of  hearing,  i.  450;  interview,  ii.  129. 
Linheres,  Count,  and  familv,  ii.  87,  91. 

Lisbon,  Portugal:  O'Sullivan  en  route,   ii.  47;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  visit, 
ii.  54,  67,  72;  description,  ii.  80-101  passim;  robbery,  ii.  100;  allu 
sion,  ii.  102,  105,  124,  125,  266. 
Litchfield,  Sal  lie,  letter,  i.  393,  394.     (See  Letters.) 
Literary  World,  notice  of  Seven  Gables,  i.  384. 

Literature:  early  American,  i.  141;  Hawthorne  not  dependent  on  it  for 
character,  i.  244;  American,  i.  355;  of  the  World,  i.  443;  Haw 
thorne's  income  from,  ii.  102;  Hall's  devotion,  ii.  118. 
Liverpool,  Eng. :  consulate,  i.  344,  474,  487 ;  First  Months  in  England 
(Ch.  I.),  ii.  1-39 passim;  Book  Society,  ii.  20;  mayor,  ii.  41,  42;  Mr. 
Perry,  ii.  44  ;  walks,  ii.  44-47;  allusion,  ii.  49;  Hawthorne's  return, 
ii.  51,  53;  cricket,  ii.  54-56;  Hawthorne  busy,  ii.  58  ;  Provincial 
Assembly,  ii.  60;  newspapers,  ii.  62;  a  run  thither,  ii.  64;  dislike, 
ii.  65,  67;  leaving  temporarily,  ii.  70  ;  return,  ii.  73;  life  at  Mrs. 
Blodgett's,  ii.  74-80;  pantomime,  ii.  81;  Hawthorne  weary  of,  ii.  101  ; 
letters,  ii.  101-104;  last  months  of  residence  and  duty,  ii.  105-121 


440  INDEX. 

passim;  Southport  near,  ii.  131,132;  Melville's  visit,  ii.  134-136; 
burglars,  ii.  137;  free  library  founded,  ii.  138  ;  official  letters,  ii.  153- 
163;  change  of  consul,  ii.  163-166;  letters  from  Bright,  ii.  226- 
230  ;  avoidance,  ii.  242;  fencing-lessons,  ii.  266;  ladies,  ii.  280; 
Wilding's  letter,  ii.  297,  298. 

Living:  cost  in  Lenox,  i.  371 ;  at  Liverpool,  ii.  31. 

Lloyd,  Elizabeth,  call  on  Hawthorne,  i.  417,  418. 

Loch  Lomond,  picture,  i.  369. 

Lodore  Cataract,  ii.  66. 

London  :  colonists  ordered  to,  i.  12;  dinner-table  defence  of  Hawthorne's 
habits,  i.  86,  87;  Hawthorne  editions,  i.  409;  Procter  letter,  i.  440, 
441  ;  embassy,  ii.  12  ;  Miss  Martineau's  shop,  ii.  24  ;  Ticknor's 
gifts,  ii.  29;  From  the  Lakes  to  (Ch.  II.),  ii.  40-73;  Inner  Temple, 
ii.  43  ;  atmosphere,  ii.  69;  localities,  ii.  69-72;  explorations,  ii.  105- 
108  passim;  tone  of  literary  society,  ii.  106  ;  National  Gallery,  etc., 
ii.  107;  fresh  experiences,  ii.  116-122  passim ;  visit  of  Hawthorne 
family,  ii.  125  et  seq.  ;  docks,  public  buildings,  ii.  128;  black,  ii.  173; 
return  from  Italy,  ii.  219  ;  short  stay,  ii.  222-224 ;  excursions,  ii.  230- 
232;  manuscript  of  Marble  Faun,  ii.  241;  last  visits,  ii.  242,  243;  a 
miynonne  dinner,  ii.  246;  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Club,  ii.  255,  258; 
photograph  myth,  ii.  250-259  ;  Cosmopolitan  Club,  ii.  259,  279  ;  re 
turn  from  Cambridge,  ii.  260;  Procter  letter,  ii.  284;  letter  on  War 
matters,  ii.  292;  Du  Chaillu,  ii.  295;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  last  illness, 
ii.  353-370;  burial,  ii.  371;  Julian's  residence,  ii.  373. 

London  Times  :  on  hotels,  ii.  28  ;  on  Ireland,  ii.  29;  musical  critic, 
ii.  121;  Rupell,  ii.  279;  on  Secession,  ii.  298;  on  American  War, 
ii.  325. 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth  :  college  friendship,  i.  119;  review,  i.  158; 
praises  Hawthorne,  i.  243;  family,  i.  276,  277;  review  of  Kvangeline, 
i.  323;  on  Seven  Gables,  i.  384;  Procter's  estimate,  i.  441;  Hiawatha, 
ii.  77-80;  a  London  admirer,  ii.  121  ;  picture  of  Hawthorne,  ii.  259; 
sad  death  of  his  wife,  ii.  294,  295;  naval  lyric,  ii.  313  ;  a  passage 
read  from  Evangeline,  ii.  335;  quotation  at  Hawthorne's  funeral, 
ii.  347,  348;  letter  to  Bright,  ii.  349,  350.  (See  Letters.) 

Long  Island,  N.  Y.,  in  War-time,  ii.  326. 

Lord,  Miriam,  wife  of  Richard  Manning,  i.  37. 

Loring,  Miss,  letter  to,  i.  81. 

Lothrop,  Dr.,  in  England,  ii.  229,  230. 

Louis,  sad  story,  i.  170-173. 

Louvoisier,  M.,  French  teacher,  i.  62.    ' 

Love:  effort  to  be  happy,  i.  195;  the  cure,  i.  199;  abolishes  death,  i.  249; 
increases  abilit3r,  i.  250;  falling  in,  i.  445. 


INDEX.  441 

Lovelace,  Lord  and  Lady  (Ada  Byron) :  landlady's  narration,  ii.  138- 
141 ;  call  on  Hawthorne  about  sons,  ii.  140. 

Lover,  Samuel,  interview,  ii.  129. 

Lovering,  Mr.,  reflect,  i.  81. 

Lowell,  James  Russell  :  letter,  i.  275;  marriage,  i.  283;  literary  contri 
butions,  i.  382;  re  view  of  Seven  Gables,  i.  390-392,  394;  allusion, 
i.  417,  434;  his  English,  ii.  70;  club-member,  ii.  276  ;  pall-bearer, 
ii.  348.  (See  Letters.) 

Lowell,  Maria,  letter,  i.  283,  284. 

Lowell,  Mass.:  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  visit,  i.  65;  Bradford,  i.  232,  235. 

Lucas,  Samuel,  literary  proposals,  ii.  233-235.     (See  Letters.) 

Lucifer,  allusion,  i.  105,  480. 

Luggage:  Italian  harpies,  ii.  214;  by  rail,  ii.  218. 

Lutheranism,  queer  mistake,  5.  362. 

Luzzy.  Mile,  cle,  prototype  of  Miriam,  ii.  236. 

Lynn,  Mass.,  walk,  i.  495. 

Lyons,  France,  in  transit,  ii.  174,  218. 


MACAULAY,  THOMAS  B. :  Hawthorne  reading,  i.  275,  interview, 
ii.  130  ;  study  of  his  Lays,  ii.  172. 
Machiavelli,  allusion,  i.  197. 
Mackay,  Charles,  acquaintance,  ii.  116-120. 
Macmillan's  Magazine,  editor,  ii.  279. 
Macon,  city,  ii.  218. 

McClellan,"  George  B. :  interview,  ii.  309,  310;  six  days'  battles,  ii.  319. 
McKean,  Mr.:  ill,  i.  110,  111  ;  allusion,  i.  155. 
McMill,  Dr.,  Low  Church  pope,  ii.  40. 
McNeil,  General,  party,  i.  216. 
Madeira:  Cilley's  wine  wager,  i.  143-149;  travels,  ii.  19,  54,  91,  93,  98, 

101,  102,  125;  music,  ii.  97. 
Magazine  of  Useful  Knowledge,  i.  156. 

Magazines  :  Hawthorne's  contributions,  i.  97, 125;  list,  i.  175,  176  ;  pro- 
jected  New  England,  i.  381,  382;  articles,  i.  408  ;  talk  on,   i.  423; 
Tupper's  articles,  ii.  110. 
Magdalene,  picture,  ii.  31. 

Maine:  Hawthorne  property,  i.  26,  93,  95,  96,  100,  177;  delegation,  i. 
153;  a  pleasure  excursion,  ii.  315-321;  people  and  manners,  ii.  317, 
318. 

Mainwaring,  the  Ladies,  ii.  39. 
Malaga,  climate,  i.  434,  435. 
Malaria,  Rome,  ii.  204-211. 


442  INDEX. 

Malice:  wanton,  i.  172;  in  sensitive  natures,  i.  178. 

Malvern,  Eng.,  invitation,  ii.  24-'}. 

Manassas,  Va.,  visit,  ii.  310,  311. 

Manchester,  Eng.,  visit,  ii.  122-124,  137;  Exhibition,  ii.  142-146,  278. 

Manchester,  Mass.:  Major  William  Hawthorne's  preaching,  i.  11 ;  Eliz- 
•  abeth  Hawthorne's  home,  i.  437-440. 

Manhatto  Indians,  reduced,  i.  14. 

Mann,  Horace  :  connection  with  the  Peabody  family,  i.  46,  275 ;  article 
on,  ii.  228;  letters  from  Hawthorne  on  the  Salem  trouble  (Appendix), 
ii.  375-385;  lectures,  ii.  381. 

Mann,  Horace,  Jr.,  chemistry,  ii.  53. 

Manning  Family :  connection  with  the  Hawthorne  family,  i.  36,  37,  99, 
100,  107;  sensibility,  i.  182;  Salem  house,  i.  286;  chair,  i.  308; 
Mrs.  Manning  very  ill,  i.  453. 

Manning,  Robert:  pays  Hawthorne's  college  expenses,  i.  37,  100;  bed 
fellow,  i.  107;  allusions,  i.  109-111,  110,  117. 

Manning,  William,  employs  Hawthorne  as  secretary,  i.  37. 

Manse,  The  Old:  residence,  i.  243-303  passim;  allusions,  i.  245,  466, 
467;  privacy  invaded,  i.  251-256;  given  up,  i.  285;  distinguished 
from  Wayside,  i.  451,  452;  Hawthorne's  active  habits  while  there, 
ii.  300. 

Mansfield,  I.  S-,  Hawthorne's  friend,  ii.  80,  104. 

Marblehead,  Mass.  :  walk,  i.  233,  235 ;  in  the  War,  ii.  327. 

Maria  the  Second,  queen  of  Portugal,  ii.  8±-1Ql  passim  ;  death,  ii.  98. 

Maria,  the  Infanta,  disguise,  ii    98,  99. 

Marriage:  Major  William  Hawthorne,  Commissioner  of,  i.  11;  Bridge 
on,  i.  130,  158,  164;  wager,  i.  143-149;  broken  off,  i.  169;  objections 
to  Hawthorne's,  i.  196-202;  ceremony,  i.  241,  242;  Woman's  Rights, 
i.  256;  the  one,  i.  294;  high  ideal,  i.  304,  373;  wedding-ring,  weight, 
i.  492;  Hawthorne  and  wife  rarely  separated,  ii.  67;  wedding  anni 
versary,  ii.  142;  Julian's,  ii.  358;  Rose's,  ii.  373. 

Mars,  planetary  omen,  i.  77. 

Marseilles,  France:  in  transit,  ii.  174,  175,215,  218;  consulate,  i.  284. 

Marshall  Family,  Tennyson's  friends,  ii.  25. 

Marston  Moor,  the  Hunt  immigrant  a  refugee  from  the  battle,  i.  46. 

Martin  Chuzzlewit,  allusion,  i.  160.     (See  Dickens.) 

Martin,  Mr  ,  anecdote  of  the  regent  of  Portugal,  ii.  85,  86. 

Martin,  Theodore,  ii.  116,  279. 

Martineau,  Harriet :  description  of  Emerson,  i.  186;  fuss  over  her  books, 
i.  187;  London  shop  and  her  views,  ii.  24-27. 

Martineau,  James,  designs  for  church-windows,  ii.  27.     • 

Mary,  painful  story,  i.  167-175. 


INDEX.  443 

Masks :  story,  i.  498 ;  Julian's,  and  a  party,  ii.  38,  39. 

Mason,  Judge,  description  of  him  and  his  Secretary  of  Legation,  ii.  174. 

Massachusetts:  patent,  i.  20;  Western,  i.  183;  northwestern  mountains, 

i.  316 ;   Bright's  sympathy,  ii.  296 ;  people  compared  with  those  of 

Maine,  ii.  317,  318. 
Matanzas,  Bridge's  visit,  i.  133. 
Mayal,  the  photographer,  ii.  256-258. 

Mead,  Rev.  Mr.:  hung  in  effigy,  i.  Ill;  general  dislike,  i.  116. 
Mecca,  allusion,  i.  358. 
Medici,  Lorenzo  di,   in  sculpture,  ii.  196. 

Medicine,  Hawthorne's  dislike  of  the  profession,  i.  108.     (See  Drugs.) 
Mediterranean  Sea:  Curtis  on,  i.  315;  Channing,  i.  434;  temperature, 

ii.  175. 
Melville,  Herman:  companionship,  i.  89;  Lenox  neighbor,  i.  362;  visit, 

i.  377,  378;  on  Seven  Gables,  i.  385-389,  394;  another  visit,  i.  396, 

397;  Whale  letters,  i.  398-407;  graphic  narration,  i.  407;   Spanish 

disguise,  i.  415;  allusion,  i.  417;  call,  i.  419;  Julian's  love,  i.  422; 

Agatha  letter,  i.  474,  475;  at  Southport,  ii.  134-136.     (See  Letters.) 
Memorial  Volume,  i.  330. 
Menaggio,  picture,  i.  212,  213. 
Mephistopheles,  allusion,  ii.  83. 
Mercury,  the  god,  i.  473. 
Mercy,  needful  for  salvation,  i.  175. 
Meredith,  George,  novels,  ii.  233. 

Meredith,  Mr.,  connection  with  Salem  surveyorship,  ii.  380. 
Mermaid,  Hawthorne's  fancy,  i.  128-130. 
Merrymount,  Mass.,  allusion,  i.  398. 
Mersey  River:  allusion,  ii.  17,  23;  foundry,  ii.  105. 
Metternich,  Prince,  resignation,  i  331. 
Mexico,  emperor  of,  ii.  325. 
Mezzofanti,  Cardinal,  a  female  parallel,  ii.  25. 
Midas,  allusion,  i.  473. 

Middle  Age,  the  most  perilous  time,  i.  166. 
Millais,  John  Everett:  his  Huguenots,  ii.  124;  chat,  ii.  279. 
Mill  Dam,  Bridge's  investment,  i.  136,  152,  162,  163. 
Mills,  Mr.,  advice,  ii.  380. 

Milnes,  Richard  Monckton,  ii.  57,  58.     (See  Houghton.) 
Milton  Club,  dinner,  ii.  116. 

Milton,  John:  Addison's  critique,  i.  75;  books  purchased,  i.  217. 
Ministry:  Hawthorne's  dislike,  i.  107;  dress,  i.  493. 
Misanthropy,  Hawthorne  not  given  to,  i.  98. 

ies:  Carlyle'.s,  5.  187;  Macaulay's,  i.  275. 


444  INDEX. 

Missionary  Society,  in  college,  i.  116. 

Missouri  Compromise,  Pierce's  view,  i.  483,  484. 

Mitchell,  Donald  G.,  on  the  War,  ii.  312.     (See  Letters.) 

Mitchell,  Maria,  travelling-companion,  ii.  173,  174. 

Mitford,  Mary  Russell,  compliments  Hawthorne,  ii.  35.     (See  Letters.} 

Mohammedanism,  mythology,  i.  472. 

Montaiito  Villa:  Hawthorne's  stronghold,  ii.  198,  199;   tower,  ii.  207, 

268. 

Mont  Blanc,  Smith's  exhibition,  ii.  121. 
Montserrat,  Elizabeth  Hawthorne's  home,  i.  438-440,  466. 
Monument  Mountain,  i.  416,  418,  419,  421,  422. 
Moore,  Bramley,  dinner,  ii.  40-43. 
Moore,  Mr.,  allusion,  i.  155. 

Moore,  Thomas,  allusion  to  his  Paradise  and  Peri,  i.  323. 
Morality:   Mrs.    Hawthoi-ne's   superiority,    i.   43;   a   morality,    i.    173; 

Hawthorne's  doubt  about  sensibility,  i.  249;  in  pictures,  ii.  193. 
More,  Hannah,  a  friend,  ii.  25. 
Morrell,  Mr.,  Cuban  planter,  i.  74. 

Morrice,  Secretary,  Major  William  Hawthorne.'s  letter,  i.  11-24. 
Morris,  George  U.,  a  hero's  letter,  ii.  313,  314.     (See  Letters.) 
Mortars,  story,  ii.  94. 

Morton,  Charles:  his  father,  ii.  24;  sailor  question,  ii.  227. 
Moscow  robe,  i.  307,  308. 
Mosquitoes,  in  Portugal,  ii.  80. 
Mother  Goose,  allusion,  i.  280,  462. 
Motley,  John  Lothrop:  praise  of  Marble  Faun,  ii.  238;  house  in  London, 

ii.  255;  photograph  story,  ii.  256-258. 
Mount  Desert,  Me.,  ii.  315. 
Mozier,   Joseph,  sculptor,  acquaintance  with  Margaret  Fuller,  i.  253- 

262. 

Munehausen,  Baron,  a  rival,  ii.  44-47. 
Munroe  &  Co.,  publishers,  i.  98. 
Murillo,  painting  in  English  Exhibition,  ii.  278. 
Music,  Hawthorne's  insensibility,  i.  103,  104. 
Mysteries   of  Udolpho,    The:   Hawthorne    reading,  i.    105  ;  Miss  De 

Quincey's  disgust,  ii.  5. 


^ADHORTH,  SAMUEL,  letter,  i.  13-24. 

-*-^    Nahant,  Mass.:  Mrs.  Sparks,  i.  235;  Longfellow's  letters,  i.  SS4, 

ii.  349,  350. 
Nantucket  Island,  seaman,  i.  475. 


INDEX.  445 

Napier,  Lord,  shipping-questions,  ii.  153-163. 

Napier,  Sir  William  Francis,  History  of  Peninsular  War,  ii.  328. 

Naples,  Curtis  on,  i.  335,  320. 

National  Era :  contributions,  i.  356 ;  perusal,  i.  427. 

National  Gallery,  London,  ii.  107,  236. 

National  Review,  Stoddard's  article,  i.  95. 

Nature:  passive,  i.  2;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  delight,  i.  75;  humanized  in 
Hawthorne's  conversation,  i.  180;  defied,  i.  319;  conquers,  i.  412,413; 
Hawthorne  filled  with  the  glories  of,  i.  457;  treatment  of  pride  and 
vanity,  i.  497;  fantastic  vision,  i.  498-505. 

Naval  Office:  Hawthorne  seeking,  i.  285;  in  Seven  Gables,  i.  364. 

Navy  Yard,  Charlestown,  Mass.,  walk,  i.  204. 

Neal,  John,  ranting,  i.  145. 

Nebuchadnezzar,  fancy  dress,  ii.  39. 

Neptune,  temple,  i.  317,  319. 

Nero,  proposed  statue,  ii.  182. 

Newburyport,  Mass.,  visit,  i.  118. 

N"ewby  Bridge,  hotel,  ii.  65. 

Newman,  Francis,  his  Phases  of  Faith,  ii.  25. 

Newspapers:  favorable  towards  Hawthorne's  early  works,  i.  150;  dream 
about  reporting,  i.  490;  Liverpool,  ii.  62;  on  treatment  of  seamen, 
ii.  152,  161,  228;  Hawthorne's  interest  in  War-time,  ii.  285;  letter  on 
the  War,  ii.  290. 

Newstead  Abbey,  visit,  ii.  138-141. 

Newton,  Mass.:  dream,  i.  326,  327;  Dr.  Peabody's  home,  ii.  12.  (See 
West  Newton.) 

New  Brighton,  Eng.,  ii.  22,  44. 

New  England:  Hawthorne  family  landing,  i.  7,  34;  History,  i.  61; 
scenery,  i.  97;  charms,  i.  265;  contrast  with  Italy,  i.  314,  316;  pro 
jected  magazine,  i.  381,  382;  dismal,  i.  432;  news  of  Louisa's  death,  i. 
454;  Calvinism,  ii.  41;  beaches,  ii.  59,  60;  a  bit  of,  ii.  174;  girl  in 
Rome,  ii.  182 ;  social  atmosphere,  ii.  221 ;  missed  by  Hawthorne,  ii.  232 ; 
Fathers  of,  ii.  234;  poetry,  ii.  274,  275;  yeomanry,  ii.  288;  mud  com 
parison,  ii.  310;  humor,  ii.  312;  northern  trip,  ii.  344-346. 

New  England  Magazine,  HaAVthorne's  articles,  i.  175,  176,  178. 

New  Hampshire,  Pierce  there,  i.  153.     (See  Hawthorne.) 

New  Haven,  Conn.,  letter,  ii.  312. 

New  Orleans,  business  and  death  of  the  Peabodies,  i.  182,  183. 

New  World:  Manning  immigration,  i.  36;  telegraph,  ii.  12. 

New  Year's:  at  Mrs.  Blodgett's,  ii.  79;  allusion,  ii.  168;  of  1864,  ii.  334. 

New  York:  letters,  i.  133,  141;  Bridge's  trip,  i.  152;  letters,  i.  284,  285; 
callers  from,  i.  377,  378;  Kossuth,  i.  430;  Louisa  Hawthorne's  death, 


446  INDEX. 

i.  454;  custom-house,  i.  461;  sojourn  intended,  ii.  13;  voyages,  ii.  155; 

last  visit,  ii.  339-342;  Central  Park,  ii.  342;  in  transit,  ii.  353;  Rose's 

home,  ii.  373. 

New  York  Mirror,  Bridge's  estimate,  i.  134,  140,  151,  152. 
New  York  Tribune,  tribute  to  Hawthorne  and  wife,  i.  249. 
Nichols,  Colonel,  report,  i.  20. 
Nightingale,  Florence,  interview,  ii.  129. 
Nobility,  the  Hawthorne  descent,  i.  9. 
Norris  Green,  Eng.,  Heywood  villa,  ii.  33,  65. 
North  American  Review,  criticism  valued,  i.  145,  162. 
North  British  Review,  Gray's  article,  ii.  25. 
North  Pole:  allusion,  i.  120;  temperature,  ii.  175. 
Norton,  Mr.,  inquiry  about,  ii.  295. 
Novels,   Hawthorne's  study  of,   i.   125.     (See  Hawthorne,   for  other 

allusions  to  this  subject,  and  for  a  full  list  of  references  to  his 

works.) 

Numa,  made  Rome,  i.  167. 
Nurse,  Rebekah,  witchcraft,  i.  24-26. 


OAKES,  JAMES,  note  from  Long  Wharf,  Boston,  ii.  299. 
Ohio,  Reynolds's  visit,  i.  155. 

Old  Man  Mountain,  Mass.,  echoes,  ii.  26. 

Old  Masters,  The,  in  Manchester  Exhibition,  ii.  144.  (See  Painting, 
Raphael,  Rome,  etc.) 

Old  World,  The:  ties  with  the  New,  ii.  12;  Melville's  visit,  ii.  134-136. 
(See  Europe,  Italy,  etc.) 

Once  a  Week,  literary  proposals  of  the  editor,  ii.  233-235. 

Oporto,  Duke  of,  dress,  ii.  95.     (See  Lisbon,) 

Orange-tree,  accident,  i.  73. 

Orient,  The,  its  languor,  ii.  56. 

Orthodoxy:  Hawthorne  a  favorite  with,  i.  465;  a  minister,  i.  493;  in 
Liverpool,  ii.  91.  (See  Calvinism,  Puritanism,  Religion.) 

Orthoepy,  English,  ii.  56,  57.     (See  English  Language.) 

Osgood,  Frances  Sargent,  Memorial  Volume,  i.  330. 

Osgood,  Lucy,  on  Hawthorne's  sketch,  i.  332. 

Ossoli  Family,  i.  259-262.     (See  Margaret  Fuller.) 

O'Sullivan,  John:  traits,  i.  160;  Hawthorne's  friendship,  i.  161;  inquiry, 
i.  163;  godfather,  i.  284;  interest  in  Hawthorne,  i.  285;  payment, 
i.  353;  visit  to  Liverpool,  ii.  47;  letters,  ii.  51;  minister  to  Portu 
gal,  ii.  67;  residence  of  family  in  Lisbon,  ii.  81-102  passim;  Uncle 
John,  ii.  104,  259,  260.  (See  Letters.) 


INDEX.  447 


Oxford,  Eng.,  visit,  ii.  125,  131. 

Oysters,  English,  ii.  305. 

Ozeroff,  Madame  d',  allusions  and  description,  ii.  89,  93. 


PACIFIC  ISLANDS,  Melville's  description,  i.  407. 
Paesttim,  Italy,  Curtis  on,  i.  315-317. 

Painting:  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  remarkable  copies,  i.  64-66;  for  Hawthorne, 
i.  211-213;  of  Hawthorne,  i.  229,  230;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  pursuit, 
i.  236,  254;  Mrs.  Peabody's,  i.  251;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  plans,  i.  353; 
Hawthorne's  criticism,  ii.  107 ;  old  painters,  ii.  185 ;  Salem  artists  in 
Rome,  ii.  186;  old  sketches,  ii.  187;  Hawthorne's  study,  ii.  192-195; 
in  English  exhibitions,  ii.  278,  279.  (See  Art,  Perugino,  etc.) 

Palfrey,  John  Gorham,  historical  opinion,  i.  12. 

Palmella,  Countess,  description,  ii.  81,  82,  84.     (See  Lisbon.) 

Palmer  Family,  connection  with  the  Peabody  family,  i.  45,  46. 

Palmer,  Edward,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  uncle,  his  appearance,  i.  58. 

Palmer,  Elizabeth  (Hunt),  grandmother  of  Mrs.  Hawthorne:  marriage 
to  Joseph  B.  Palmer,  i.  46 ;  disciplinarian,  i.  55-57. 

Palmer,  General,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  great-grandfather,  i.  46,  266. 

Palmer,  George,  uncle  of  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  his  traits,  i.  54,  55. 

Palmer,  Joseph  B.,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  grandfather,  i.  46. 

Palmerston,  Lord:  allusion,  ii.  120;  speech,  ii.  223;  errors,  ii.  325. 

Pantheon,  Rome,  sculpture,  ii.  184,  203. 

Papacy,  troops,  ii.  181.     (See  Roman  Catholicism,  etc.) 

Parables,  Hawthorne's,  i.  83. 

Paradise:  boarders,  i.  253;  dinner,  i.  274;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's,  i.  286; 
of  flowers,  i.  289;  of  peace,  i.  313;  hay-loft,  i.  362;  Concord,  i.  435; 
heartfelt  peace,  ii.  284.  (See  Heaven,  Immortality,  etc.) 

Parents,  pride  of  power,  i.  379.     (See  Children,  Marriage,  etc.  ) 

Paris,  France:  Naples  an  Italian,  i.  320;  Hawthorne  uneasy,  i.  429; 
jest  about,  ii.  91;  a  gambler  from,  ii.  136;  anecdote  of  Tennyson, 
ii.  145,  146;  trip,  ii.  167,  169;  weather,  localities,  ii.  173-176;  in 
transit,  ii.  219;  American  politics,  ii.  292. 

Parker,  Theodore:  censured,  i.  269;  literary  contributions,  i.  382. 

Parley,  Peter,  i.  124,  146.     (See  Goodrich.) 

Parliament,  Eng.:  references  in  Nadhorth  letter,  i.  13-24 passim;  pro 
rogation,  ii.  28;  Crimean  War,  ii.  37;  Presbyterianism,  ii.  60;  visit, 
ii.  120,  121;  buildings,  ii.  128 ;  treatment  of  seamen,  ii.  152,  226-228; 
visit,  ii.  223. 

Parmenter,  Naval  Officer  of  Boston,  i.  285. 


448  INDEX. 

Party:  child's,  i.  56,  57;  Hawthorne's  dread,  i.  214.  (See  Society, 
Table,  etc.) 

Passport,  in  Europe,  ii.  215,  218. 

Patmore,  Coventry,  his  Angel  in  the  House,  ii.  151. 

Payne  Letters,  i.  194.     (See  Haiothorne's  Works.) 

Peabody  Family:  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  ancestry,  i.  44;  clan,  Queen  Boadi- 
cea,  etymology  of  name,  i.  45 ;  residence  in  West  St.,  Boston,  i.  200, 
262;  hospitality,  i.  262-264;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  kind  words,  i.  371; 
sympathy,  i.  380;  establishment  broken  up,  i.  409. 

Peabody,  Andrew  P.,  Harvard  College,  i.  44. 

Peabody,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  (Palmer),  mother  of  Mrs.  Hawthorne:  marriage 
to  Dr.  Nathaniel  Peabody,  i.45,  46;  her  boys,  i.  59;  health,  letters  to 
her  daughter  Sophia,  i.  66-71;  sympathy  with  her  son  Wellington's 
troubles,  i.  70;  flowers,  i.  187;  her  letters  from  Sophia,  i.  246,  268- 
275,  277-281,  286,  287,  306-309;  letters  to  Sophia,  i.  250,  251,  263- 
270;  natural  motherly  anxiety,  i.  250,  251;  on  Woman's  Rights, 
i.  257,  258;  library,  i.  262;  benevolence,  German  translations,  i.  262, 
2G-3;  Fourierism,  i.  268;  daughter's  letters,  i.  310-314;  and  visit  in 
1848,  i.  325;  more  letters  to  and  from,  i.  330-334;  on  the  surveyor- 
ship  trouble,  i.  338,  339;  notice  of  Madame  Hawthorne's  death, 
i.351,  352;  Lenox  letters,  i.  363,  364,  366-381,  383,  384;  daughter's 
tribute,  i.  378-380;  HaAvthorne  compared  with  Shakspeare,  i.  384; 
Rose's  birth,  i.  394;  on  Seven  Gables  and  Blithedale,  i.  446,  447; 
letter  from  Sophia  about  Louisa  Hawthorne's  death,  i.  454-456;  let 
ter  to  her  daughter,  i.  457,  458;  letter  from  Sophia  on  Life  of  Pierce, 

,  i.  464;  about  baby,  i.  469,  470;  about  Pierce,  i.  481-485 ;  death,  i.  485- 
487.  (See  Letters.) 

Peabody,  Miss  Elizabeth  Palmer,  eldest  sister  of  Mrs.  Hawthorne :  on  a 
Mr.  Hawthorne  of  Herbert  St.,  i.  38;  old  age,  i.  40;  cured  of  a  bad 
habit,  i.  50;  summary  of  family  annals,  i.  60  et  seq. ;  Lancaster 
school,  i.  61;  sensitiveness  and  disappointment,  i.  68,  69;  constitu 
tion  and  birth,  i.  70,  71;  letter  about  Hawthorne,  i.  164-167;  about 
Hawthorne  family,  i.  177-182;  West  Newton,  i.  183;  flowers  to 
Elizabeth  Hawthorne,  i.  191,  193;  a  word  from  Hawthorne,  i.  195; 
aid  to  the  lovers,  i.  200;  epithalamion,  i.  246-249;  synonym  of  good 
ness,  i.  278;  an  aid  in  distress,  i.  335,  336;  favorite  flowers,  i.  366, 
368 ;  sympathy,  i.  380,  381 ;  word  from,  i.  426 ;  message  at  the  time 
of  Louisa  Hawthorne's  death,  i.  456;  mother's  death,  i.  485-487;  error 
about  shipping,  ii.  30;  Brattleboro  visit,  ii.  52;  history  lesson,  ii.  284; 
a  late  tea,  ii.  287;  calls,  ii.  288-290;  a  sister's  praise,  ii.  331.  (See 
Letters.) 

Peabody,  Francis,  immigration,  i.  44. 


INDEX.  449 

Peabody,  George:  brother  of  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  i.  46;  character  and 
death,  i.  59,  60;  school,  i.  62;  return  and  death,  i.  182,  200;  pain, 
i.  190;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  grief,  i.  207,  208;  desk,  i.  376. 

Peabody,  George,  millionnaire,  i.  44. 

Peabody,  Mary  (Mrs.  Horace  Mann),  sister  of  Mrs.  Hawthorne:  old  age, 
i.  46;  school  in  Lancaster,  i.  61;  aiding  her  brothers,  i.  62;  Cuba, 
i.  66;  and  Hawthorne,  i.  190-192;  allusions  by  Elizabeth  Haw 
thorne,  i.  193,  194;  advice  about  sister's  marriage,  i.  241;  marriage 
and  babe,  i.  275,  276;  Lenox  flowers,  i.  366;  on  Blithedale,  i.  458; 
mother's  death,  i.  486;  allusions,  ii.  384,  385. 

Peabody,  Nathaniel,  father  of  Mrs.  Hawthorne:  dentistry,  i.  44;  char 
acter,  i.  45 ;  distrust  of  a  son,  i.  70 ;  treats  Hawthorne  for  lameness, 
i.  100;  allusions,  i.  185,  371;  West  St.  home,  i.  242,  262;  repairs  at 
the  Manse,  i.  278,  279;  message,  i.  309;  indignation  over  Haw 
thorne's  loss  of  place,  i.  336-338  ;  projected  visit,  i.  390 ;  in  Lenox, 
i.  395;  wife's  death,  i.486;  letters  about  European  voyage  and  life, 
ii.  4,  5,  10-14,  26-32,  36-39;  last  letter,  ii.  52,  53;  letter  from  Sophia, 
ii.  54-57.  (See  Letters.) 

Peabody,  Nathaniel:  brother  of  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  i.  46;  traits,  mar 
riage,  business,  death,  i.  59,  60;  school,  i.  62;  Elizabeth's  visit  to 
West  Newton,  i.  183 ;  little  vessel,  i.  427. 

Peabody,  Wellington:  brother  of  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  i.  46;  traits  and 
death,  i.  59,  60;  school,  i.  62;  motherly  sympathy  in  his  troubles, 
i.  70 ;  death  in  New  Orleans,  i.  182,  191 ;  wish  for  his  mother,  i.  265 ; 
Julian  Hawthorne  a  reminder,  i.  331. 

Peaches,  stolen,  i.  75,  76. 

Pearce,  Mr.:  in  Liverpool,  ii.  22;  financial  matters,  ii.184. 

Pearson,  Dr.,  i.  351. 

Pedro  the  Fifth,  king  of  Portugal :  anecdotes,  ii.  81-101  passim;  good 
saying,  ii.  94. 

Peel  Castle,  Eng.,  ruin,  ii.  50. 

Pegsboro',  Ireland,  letter,  ii.  6-8. 

Penitence,  needful  for  salvation,  i.  175.     (See  Religion,  etc.) 

Pennell,  Rebecca,  her  recollections,  i.  493. 

Perry,  Commissioner,  friend  of  Warren,  ii.  44. 

Persepolis,  ruins,  i.  185. 

Perseus,  classic  allusion,  i.  473. 

Persia,  reading  about,  i.  186. 

Perugia,  Italy:  bronze  statue,  ii.  196;  picturesque,  ii.  201. 

Perugino:  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  description  of  the  Deposition  from  the 
Cross,  ii.  194,  195. 

Peter's  Path,  Concord,  i.  466. 

VOL.  ii.  29 


450  INDEX. 

Phidias,  allusion,  ii.  279. 

Philadelphia,  Pa.:  Lowell's  home,  i.  283;  Hawthorne's  last  journey,  ii. 
339-345,  349 ;  places  of  interest,  ii.  343. 

Philistines,  literary,  i.  460. 

Phillips,  J.,  quoted,  i.  166. 

Phillips,  Mr.,  liking  Hawthorne's  stories,  i.  266,  267. 

Photographs:  group,  ii.  131;  mythic  story,  ii.  256-258. 

Phrenology,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  iftclination,  i.  79. 

Piazza  del  Popolo,  Rome :  muskets,  ii.  181 ;  allusion,  ii.  203. 

Pickman,  Benjamin,  i.  28. 

Pickman,  Dudley  L.,  fortune,  i.  310. 

Pickman,  Mrs.  Rawlins,i.  409. 

Pictures:  in  Lenox  home,  i.  368-371;  at  Rock  Park,  ii.  31,  32;  Manches 
ter  Exhibition,  ii.  142-146 ;  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  enjoyment,  ii.  194,  195; 
Bacchanalian,  ii.  236,  237.  (See  Paintings,  Rome,  etc.) 

Pierce,  Captain,  masts,  i.  21. 

Pierce,  Franklin:  boon-companion  of  Hawthorne,  i.  86;  college  friend, 
ship,  i.  119,  131;  letter  of  congratulation,  i.  134;  good  cheer,  i.  140j 
senator,  i.  148 ;  South  Sea  Expedition,  i.  153-157, 161, 163 ;  friendship 
i.  164;  visit  to  Hawthorne,  i.  281;  Life,  i.  450;  presidency,  i.  453; 
Isles  of  Shoals,  i.  466;  Mrs.  Hawthorne'c  defence,  i.  481-485;  com 
pared  with  Webster,  i.  482;  noble  act,  ii.  12;  chosen  President  by  ac- 
.clamation,  ii.  13;  Hawthorne's  unavailing  intercession  for  Melville, 
ii.  134;  visit  to  Rome,  ii.  210,  211;  dedication  of  book  to  him,  ii.  304; 
visit  to  Hawthorne,  ii.  335 ;  with  Hawthorne  in  his  last  journey  and 
death,  ii.  3^4-349.  (See  Hawthorne's  Works,  Letters.) 

Pike,  William  B.:  on  Hawthorne's  works,  i.  443-447;  announcement  of 
Louisa's  death,  i.  455-457 ;  on  General  Pierce,  i.  466 ;  description  of  a 
sailor,  i.  491.  (See  Letters.) 

Pilgrim's  Progress,  The:  Hawthorne  reading,  i.  96;  allusion,  i.  358,  425, 
427.  (See  Bunyan.) 

Pillory,  in  New  England,  i.  11. 

Pillsbury,  Captain,  philanthropy,  i.  188. 

^incian'ffill,  Rome,  ii.  203,  214. 

Pioneer,  The,  literary  contributions  to,  i.  473. 

Pittsfield,  Mass.:  Melville's  home,  i.  362;  boots,  i.  386;  Secret  Review, 
i.  388,  389;  letters,  i.  398-407;  via,  i.  429;  Melville  leaves,  ii.  135. 

Plato:  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  study,  i.  63;  of  New  England,  i.  265. 

Playthings,  in  a  story,  i.  493. 

Plutarch,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  reading,  i.  61. 

Plymouth,  Mass.,  visit,  i.  235. 

Plymouth,  N.  H.,  Hawthorne's  death,  ii.  346. 


INDEX.  451 

Pocket-picking,  transmissible,  i.  2. 

Poe,  Edgar  Allan:  comparison  with  Hawthorne,  i.  103;  criticism,  i.  243; 
proposal,  i.  273. 

Poetry:  Arcadia,  i.  34,  35;  Hawthorne's  youthful,  i.  102,  103,  105, 106; 
Scott's,  i.  104;  of  reflection,  i.  167;  epic,  i.  208;  blessed,  i.  277;  poet 
wanted,  i.  490;  poets  in  court,  i.  496;  story  in  rhyme,  ii.  10;  Greek, 
ii.  35;  squibs  on  Hawthorne,  ii.  78-80,  222;  quotation  by  Milnes, 
ii.  244;  Bennett's,  ii.  253,  254;  War,  ii.  313;  Hawthorne's  nonsense, 
ii.  322;  Stoddard's  verses,  ii.  329.  (See  Whittier,  etc.) 

Polish  Language,  ii.  178. 

Politics:  discussions  with  Hawthorne's  sister,  i.  125;  Cilley's,  i.  143, 
145;  seeming  patriotism,  i.  195;  Elizabeth  Hawthorne's  interest, 
i.  436;  Gray's  articles,  ii.  25  ;  Elizabeth  Hawthorne's  interest,  ii.  325; 
Hawthorne's  surveyorship,  ii.  375-385. 

Polk,  James  Knox,  President,  i.  285. 

Pompeii,  Curtis  on,  i.  322. 

Pope,  Miss  Martineau  not  the,  i.  187.     (See  Me  Mitt,  Papacy,  etc.) 

Pope,  Alexander,  Elizabeth  Hawthorne's  admiration,  i.  189. 

Portland,  Me.,  papers,  i.  107. 

Port  Royal,  N.  C.,  officer  from,  ii.  320. 

Portugal :  travels,  ii.  19,  80-101  passim ;  language,  92,  94.    (See  Lisbon.) 

Potomac,  Army  of  the,  ii.  319,  320. 

Potter,  Ruth,  third  wife  of  John  Manning,  i.  37. 

Powers,  Hiram:  in  Florence,  ii.  190-192;  Hawthorne's  criticism,  ii.  196, 
197;  resemblance  of  a  vetturino's  eyes,  ii.  202. 

Praslyn,  Due  de,  his  governess,  ii.  236. 

Praxiteles:  sculpture,  ii.  185;  Faun,  ii.  244,  255. 

Pratt,  Mrs.,  rescue  of  a  drowned  girl,  i.  302. 

Pre-Raphaelitism,  finish  in  Hawthorne,  ii.  48. 

Prescott,  Mrs. :  living,  for  dear  invalids,  i.  70;  call,  i.  274. 

Presbyterianism,  Provincial  Assembly,  ii.  60.     (See  Letters.) 

Price,  Walter,  witness,  i.  28. 

Pride,  how  treated  by  Nature,  i.  497. 

Pride's  Crossing,  Mass.,  sojourn,  ii.  282-290. 

Prigdom,  Hawthorne's  avoidance  of,  i.  120. 

Prisons:  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  interest,  i.  183;  allusion,  i.  225;  Lisbon, 
ii.  100;  Libby,  ii.  127. 

Procrustes,  classic  allusion,  i.  96. 

Procter,  Bryan  W. :  kind  letter,  i.  440,  441;  daughter  Adelaide,  ii.  284. 

Protestantism:  Mr.  Scarisbrook' s  children  educated  in,  ii.  136;  Haw 
thorne's,  ii.  252  ;  convent  at  Clewer,  ii.  374.  (See  Calvinism,  Puri 
tanism,  Religion,  Roman  Catholicism,  etc.) 


452  INDEX. 

Psyche,  pictures,  i.  369. 

Puritan  Recorder,  on  the  Pierce  Life,  i.  465. 

Puritans:  effect  of  tenets  on  Hawthorne,  i.  4;  Major  William  Hawthorne's 
eloquence,  i.  10;  Judge  Hawthorne  a  true,  i.  26;  strength  in  Haw 
thorne  family,  i.  36;  churches,  i.  60;  conscience,  i.  83;  Hawthorne's 
portrayal,  i.  141;  grim,  i.  398;  James's  opinion,  i.  423;  our  sires,  ii.  61; 
Hawthorne's  conscience,  ii.  143,  185;  pictures  of  divines,  ii.  223;  chord 
monotonous,  ii.  234;  stern  fields,  ii.  265.  (See  Calvinism,  etc.) 

Puseyites,  English  opposition  to,  ii.  41.     (See  Religion,  etc.) 

Putnam,  Captain,  office-holding,  ii.  380. 

Putnam,  George,  publisher's  kindness,  i.  359. 

Pyncheon  Family,  title-deeds,  i.  26,  395.    (See  House  of  Seven  Gables.) 


QUAKERS:  lashed,  i.  10;  discontents,  i.  24;  Hawthorne  mistaken 
for  a  Friend,  i.  78  ;  landlady,  i.  283 ;  a  caller,  i.  417. 
Quarterly  Review,  i.  194. 
Quattlebum,  General,  a  myth,  ii.  44-47. 
Quilts,  eider-down,  ii.  173. 


RAGLAN,  LORD,  war  incident,  ii.  108. 
Railroads,  in  Italy,  ii.  189,  200,  215. 

Rain,  in  Portugal,  ii.  100,  101. 

Randolph,  Major  William  Hawthorne's  opposition,  i.  11. 

Raphael:  his  Transfiguration,  i.  368;  angels,  i.  371;  failure,  ii.  142;  sa 
cred  subjects,  ii.  185;  Madonna  della  Seggiola,  ii.  192;  Hawthorne's 
criticism  on  the  Transfiguration,  ii.  193;  Entombment,  ii.  195. 

Rattlesnake  Hill,  Mass.,  i.  421. 

Raven,  story  of  a,  i.  423. 

Rawlins,  Miss:  allusion,  i.  192;  aunt,  i.  384. 

Raymond,  Me. :  Hawthorne  property,  i.  26;  house  built  by  Robert  Man 
ning,  i.  37;  dian%  i.  95;  Hawthorne  family's  residence,  i.  95,  100, 
101,  105,  177;  gay  deceivers,  i.  107;  Uncle  Robert,  i.  109-111; 
Louisa's  memories,  i.  232. 

Reade,  Charles  :  description  of  Hawthorne,  i.  121 ;  interview,  ii.  118. 

Reading,  Hawthorne  excellence,  ii.  8,  9.     (See  Scott.) 

Reason,  goddess,  i.  269. 

Redcar,  Eng.,  retirement  in,  ii.  199,  222-230 passim. 

Reflection,  poetry  of,  i.  167. 

Reformers:  need  distance,  i.  448;  the  real,  i.  458. 

Regaleina,  Baroness,  Regular,  ii.  90. 


INDEX.  453 

Religion:  narrow,  i.  4;  Major  William  Hawthorne's  preaching,  i.  11; 
dearness  of  the  Gospel,  i.  16;  Judgment  Seat,  i.  22;  unenlightened 
zeal,  i.  56;  Mrs.  Peabody's  faith,  i.  70;  eternal  life  daily,  i.  81; 
God's  penetration,  i.  90  :  insight  into  Divinity,  i.  93;  training  children, 
i.  99 ;  God's  mercy  shown  in  indolence,  i.  122  ;  submission,  i.  190, 191 ; 
methods  of  Providence,  i.  203;  Madame  Hawthorne,  i.  240;  silvery 
lining,  i.  248;  Hawthorne's  about  his  wife,  i.  254;  vital,  i.  258;  Mrs. 
Peabody's  trust,  i.  268;  Hawthorne's  trust,  i.  271,  272,287;  God's 
dealing  with  sin,  i.  307;  Madonna,  i.  316,  319;  dislike  of  God,  i.  404; 
liking  for  sin,  i.  481 ;  Hawthorne's  Assembly  letter,  ii.  60-62 ;  com 
fort  in  separation,  ii.  72,  73:  Lisbon  prayers,  ii.  100;  confessional, 
ii.  178,  179;  comfort  during  Una's  illness,  ii.  209,  210;  Mrs.  Haw 
thorne's  thankfulness,  ii.  283,  284;  Hawthorne's  Christlike  character, 
ii.  352;  Una  Hawthorne's  church-membership,  ii.  373.  (See  Cal 
vinism,  Unitarianism,  etc.) 

Reputation,  subtle,  i.  339. 

Reserve :  Hawthorne's,  i.  247;  English,  ii.  57,  58.    (See  Solitude.) 

Retrospect,  Miss  Martineau's,  i.  186,  187. 

Revolution:  effect  of  tales  on  Hawthorne,  i.  6;  Bold  Daniel  in,  i.  29: 
General  Palmer,  i.  46 ;  Judge  Pyncheon,  i.  395 ;  Hawthorne's  lessons 
to  his  son,  ii.  269,  270. 

Reynolds,  J.  B.:  Pierce's  letter  to,  i.  154-156;  South  Sea  Expedition, 
i.  158,  161. 

Rhyll,  Wales,  sands,  ii.  58,  59,  132. 

Rice  Family,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  visit  and  painting,  i.  65. 

Richmond  Hill,  Eng.:  visit,  ii.  106  ;  antique  costume,  dinner,  ii.  223. 

Ripley,  George  :  Brook  Farm,  i.  227  ;  wife,  i.  236;  return  to  Old  Manse, 
i.  285;  indebtedness,  i.  287. 

Risley,  John,  gymnast,  i.  321. 

Robbery:  in  Lisbon,  ii.  100;  peril  in  Italy,  ii.  175,  212,  213.  (See 
Brigands.) 

Roberts,. David:  Chancellor,  i.  453;  office,  i.  466. 

Robinson  Crusoe,  compared  with  Wonder-Book,  i.  471. 

Rock  Ferry:  near  Liverpool,  ii.  22,  23,  44,  52;  hotel,  ii.  68. 

Rock  Park,  Hawthorne's  Liverpool  home,  ii.  22,  23,  33,  47,  52,  59,  60,  62. 

Rockport,  Mass.,  visit,  ii.  331. 

Roderick  Random,  Hawthorne  reading,  i.  105. 

Rollins's  Ancient  History,  i.  61. 

Roman  Catholicism:  Liverpool  ball,  ii.  28;  opposition,  ii.  41;  Mr. 
Scarisbrook,  ii.  136;  the  confessional,  ii.  178,  179;  dead  Capuchin, 
ii.  183,  184;  in  Marble  Faun,  ii.  240,  252.  (See  Protestantism,  Re 
ligion,  etc.) 


454  INDEX. 

Romance,  of  Hawthorne's  life,  i.  194. 
Rome,  Ancient,  Nurna's  influence,  i.  167. 

Rome:  Hawthorne  sojourn,  i.  33;  journal,  i.  259-262;  Revolution,  i.  260, 
261;  Curtis  on,  i.  320-322;  illness,  i.  359;  Hawthorne  restless,  i.  429; 
climate,  i.  434 ;  Sarah  Clarke,  ii.  59 ;  Eighteen  Months  Before  (Ch.  IV. ), 
ii.  125-169;  letter,  ii.  152;  trip,  ii.  167 ;  Hawthorne's  liking,  ii.  171, 172; 
cold  reception,  ii.  176;  sojourn,  ii.  176-189;  buildings,  ii.  177-179; 
Carnival,  ii.  179-181,  211,  212;  sunshine,  ii.  185;  artists  from  Amer 
ica,  ii.  184,  186,  188;  malaria,  ii.  188;  second  sojourn,  ii.  200-214; 
journey,  ii.  200-202;  Piazza  Poli,  sky,  ii.  203;  household  arrange 
ments,  ii.  204;  disease,  ii.  205-211;  rambles,  ii.  212,  213;  endear 
ment,  ii.  214;  departure,  ii.  214,  215;  passport,  ii.215;  lassitude,  ii.218; 
an  Anglo-Roman,  ii.  244;  Hilda's  tower,  sculptors,  ii.  251;  Bennett's 
poem,  ii.  253,  254;  Miss  Tuckerman,  ii.  273;  injury  to  Haw 
thorne's  health,  ii.  283;  lasting  effects  of  fever,  ii.  324.  (See  Italy, 
Raphael,  etc.) 

Rondel,  Mary,  a  curious  incident,  i.  31-35. 

Ropes,  the  artist,  in  Rome,  ii.  186. 

Roscoe,  Mr.,  in  Liverpool,  ii.  20. 

Roxbury,  Mass.:  foot-race,  i.  60;  allusion,  i.  232.     (See  West Roxbury.) 

Rubens,  Rainbow,  ii.  278. 

Rugby,  Eng.,  Bright' s  schooldays,  ii.  236. 

Rupell,  Editor,  ii.  279. 

Russell,  J.  B.,  printing,  i.  146,  150,  151.     (See  Letters.) 

Russell,  Lord  John:  remonstrance,  ii.  152;  speech,  ii.  223. 

Russia:  allusion,  i.  387;  embassy,  i.453;  Czar's  ice-gifts,  Crimean  War, 
ii.  37. 


SAINT  HILDA'S  ABBEY,  Eng.,  ii.  224. 
Saint  John's  Feast,  Florence,  ii.  197. 

Saint  Petersburg,  Russia,  atmosphere,  ii.  176. 

Saint  Peter's  Church,  Rome,  Hawthorne's  observations,  ii.  177-179,  214. 
(See  Rome,  Architecture.) 

Saint  Petrox  Parish,  the  Manning  homestead,  i.  36. 

Salem:  Felt's  Annals,  i.  11;  witchcraft,  i.  24-26;  will,  i.  26-28;  small 
pox,  i.  29;  resident  connections  of  the  Hawthorne  family,  i.  35; 
Manning  home,  i.  37;  plain  living,  i.  43;  Dr.  Peabody's  home,  i.  44; 
Latin  School,  i.  59,  62;  churches,  i.  60;  Peabody  residence,  i.  61-63; 
return,  i.  66;  retreat  near,  i.  74;  Hawthorne  homestead,  i.  95,  98; 
Hawthorne  fitting  for  college,  i.  96;  acquaintances,  i.  97;  Worces 
ter's  school,  i.  100;  columbines,  Hawthorne  home,  i.  101;  letters, 


INDEX.  455 

i.  105-108;  Dr.  Ward,  i.  110,  111;  Hawthorne's  wish  to  return, 
i.  113-115;  Uncle  Dike's  return,  i.  122;  haunted  chamber  in  Herbert 
St.,  i.  125;  letter  to  Louisa,  i.  126,  127;  dulness,  i.  134;  Hawthorne's 
residence,  i.  138, 139;  best  circles,  i.  167 ;  Hawthorne's  early  acquaint 
ance  with  the  Peabodies,  i.  177-183;  Elizabeth  Hawthorne's  letter, 
i.  193;  seclusion,  i.  222-225;  letters,  i.  226-236,  237-242;  post-office, 
i.  284;  return  of  family  from  the  Manse,  i.  285;  visit,  i.  288;  letters, 
Castle  Dismal,  i.  293-296;  four  years'  residence,  i.  304-356;  custom 
house,  i.  304-356,  ii.  375-385  (Appendix);  three  houses,  i.  304-313 ; 
Hawthorne's  literary  work,  i.  312;  mother's  death,  i.  340-352;  re 
moval,  i.  352;  good-bye,  i.  357;  strain  of  last  year,  i.  358;  Howard 
letter,  i.  364-366;  location  of  Seven  Gables,  i.  364,391;  Curwin  house, 
i.  392;  Pyncheon  house,  i.  395;  invitation,  i.  409;  no  rest  after  leav 
ing,  i.  429 ;  Louisa  Hawthorne's  home,  i.  435 ;  Pike's  letter,  i.  444- 
447;  Louisa  Hawthorne's  last  letter,  i.  453,  454;  opinions  about 
Pierce,  i.  465,  466;  artists  in  Rome,  ii.  182,  186;  Pride's  Crossing, 
ii.  282-285;  Zouaves,  ii.  327;  Elizabeth  Hawthorne's  visits,  ii.  336; 
Hawthorne's  dislike,  ii.  384.  (See  Hawthorne  Family,  etc.) 

Salem  Gazette :  article  on  Hawthorne,  i.  233;  on  Pierce  Biography,  i.  465 ; 
mythic  story,  ii.  256-258. 

Salem  Register,  on  Pierce  Biography,  i.  465. 

Salerno,  Italy,  G.  W.  Curtis  in,  i.  315-322. 

Salisbury,  Eng.,  visit,  ii.  125. 

Salmon,  the  artist,  a  sea-piece,  i.  65. 

Salvator  Rosa:  place  of  study,  i.  315;  Forest,  i.  369. 

Sanborn,  Frank  P.,  Concord  school,  ii.  263-267. 

Sandheys,  Eng.,  Bright's  home,  ii.  33,  65,  104. 

Sandwich  Islands,  voyage,  ii.  373. 

Saratoga,  N.  Y.,  Louisa  Hawthorne's  visit,  i.  453. 

Sardariapalus,  King,  fancy  dress,  ii.  39. 

Saturday  Review,  on  Marble  Faun,  ii.  240,  244,  250-253. 

Savage,  Mrs.  Anne,  Hawthorne  descent,  i.  9. 

Savage,  Squire,  Elizabeth  Peabody's  disappointment,  i.  69. 

Scarisbrook,  an  adventurer,  ii.  136. 

Schiller,  on  brain  aristocracy,  i.  401. 

Schlippenbach,  Countess  of,  ii.  89. 

School,  Hawthorne's  disinclination,  i.  95.     (See  Education,  Bowdoin,  etc.) 

School-books,  Hawthorne's  plan,  ii.  384. 

Scorpions,  anecdote,  i.  74. 

Scotland:  toleration  of  Burns,  i.  391;  the  Campbells,  ii.  31,  32;  Lord 
Houghton,  ii.  58;  plan  of  travel,  ii.  102;  trip,  ii.  122,  132,  138,  141. 

Scott,  Michael,  a  feast,  i.  493,  494. 


456  INDEX. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter:  portrayal  of  Cromwell,  i.  12;  poems,  i.  104;  "Waverley, 
i.  105;  read  aloud  by  Hawthorne,  ii.  9,  269,  327;  quotation  about 
obstinacy,  ii.  229.  (See  Poetry.) 

Sculpture:  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  pursuit,  i.  236,  254;  Mozier's,  i.  259-262; 
Tupper's  child,  ii.  114;  Manchester  Exhibition,  ii.  142-146;  Story's 
and  Lander's,  ii.  181-183;  Hawthorne's  bust,  ii.  182,  183;  Roman, 
ii.  184;  Faun,  ii.  185;  Hawthorne's  study  and  insight,  ii.  196,  197; 
Greek,  ii.  197;  Medicean  Venus,  ii.  213;  American  sculptors  in  Rome, 
•  ii.  251;  the  Faun,  ii.  255;  in  English  exhibitions,  ii.  278,  279.  (See 
Phidias,  Powers,  etc.) 

Scylla,  classic  allusion,  i.  120. 

Seamen,  their  ill-treatment,  ii.  151-163,  226,  227. 

Seasickness,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's,  i.  71. 

Sebago  Lake,  i.  95,  101,  107.     (See  Raymond.) 

Sebastopol,  surrender,  ii.  73.     (See  Crimean  War.) 

Seclusion:  Hawthorne's,  i.  194-196,  222-224;  in  Concord,  i.  289.  (See 
Solitude,  etc.) 

Sedgwick  Family,  ice-plant,  i.  432. 

Sefton,  Earl  of,  fancy  dress,  ii.  39. 

Self-consciousness,  i.  305. 

Self-distrust,  Hawthorne's,  i.  147. 

Selfishness:  universal,  i.  68;  Hawthorne  charged  with,  i.  123;  in  Byron, 
i.  497. 

Sensitiveness:  Hawthorne  and  Manning,  i.  36;  children,  i.  52;  Mrs. 
Hawthorne's,  i.  52-56. 

Servants:  Anne  Foster's  faithfulness,  i.  28;  Cuban,  i.  74;  Mary  Bryan 
and  the  birds,  i.  272;  holiday,  i.  273-275;  love  for  baby,  i.  278; 
Molly,  i.  289;  Kitty,  in  Lenox,  i.  376;  Mrs.  Peters,  i.  410-428  pas 
sim;  Mrs.  Peabody's  death,  i.  486;  Mary  Herne,  ii.  13;  masks,  ii.  38; 
fees  and  bother,  ii.  52;  nurse  Fanny,  ii.  72,  144;  Mrs.  Blodgett's,  at 
Christmas,  ii.  77-80;  in  Portugal,  ii.  81;  nurse  to  Rosebud,  ii.  104; 
trouble  with  Roman,  ii.  189;  vetturinos,  JEmperor,  ii.  202;  Roman 
matron,  ii.  204;  Louisa,  ii.  355-370 passim.  (See  Dora.) 

Seville,  Spain,  allusion,  ii.  84. 

Sewall,  Stephen,  witness,  i.  28. 

Shakers:  allusion,  i.  127;  visit,  i.  419-421. 

Shakspeare :  Glendower  and  Hotspur,  i.  45 ;  causes  dreams,  i.  76 ;  sun 
dry  plays,  i.  77;  boyhood,  i.  94;  Hawthorne  reading,  i.  96,  275;  on 
the  poet,  i.  310;  compared  with  Hawthorne,  i.  384,  385,  ii.  5;  the 
Bacon  theory,  ii.  129. 

Shaw,  Mr.,  consulate  matters,  ii.  184. 

Sheffield,  Eng. :  Cecil  letter,  ii.  10;  razors,  ii.  29. 


INDEX.  457 

Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe,  death,  i.  434. 

Shepard,  Ada :  governess,  ii.  146,  206,  266 ;  not  the  original  of  Hilda, 
ii.  225. 

Sheppard,  Mr.,  in  Liverpool,  ii.  20. 

Ships:  Arbella,  immigration,  i.  10;  the  Prince  Royal,  masts,  i.  21;  Fair 
America,  Bold  Daniel's  privateer,  i.  29 ;  Hannah  and  Elizabeth,  in 
which  the  Mannings  immigrated,  i.  37;  Cuban  trip,  i.  71,  72;  Julian's 
play,  i.  366,  367;  Henry  Clay,  burnt,  i.  454-457;  Hawthorne  in  the 
Niagara,  i.  487,  ii.  13-16;  a  mate,  i.  491;  caloric,  ii.  12;  steamers, 
ii.  19-;  American  captains  in  Liverpool,  ii.  19;  ferries,  ii.  22;  steamer 
Canada,  ii.  26;  to  Liverpool,  ii.  30;  in  Crimean  War,  ii.  37;  Conway 
wreck,  ii.  59 ;  new  consulate  laws,  ii.  64 ;  launch  and  wreck  of  Royal 
Charter,  ii.  68;  steamer  to  Lisbon,  ii.  72,  73;  anecdotes  told  by  cap 
tains  at  Mrs.  Blodgett's,  74-76 ;  to  Madeira,  ii.  100;  lunch  on  the 
Princeton,  ii.  105;  treatment  of  sailors,  ii.  151-163,  226,227;  steamer 
Calabrese,  ii.  175;  steamer  to  Marseilles,  ii.  214-216;  Trent  affair, 
ii.  281;  English  interests,  ii.  298;  Cumberland  and  Merrimac,  ii.  313, 
314;  Port  Royal,  ii.  313;  Eastern  Queen,  ii.  315;  Bremen  steamer, 
ii.  353. 

Shrewsbury,  Eng.,  sights,  ii.  70. 

Shyness,  Hawthorne's,  i.  84. 179.     (See  Party,  Seclusion,  Solitude,  etc.) 

Siberia,  allusion,  ii.  173. 

Sicily,  Italy,  allusion,  i.  472. 

Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  curious  story  about  a  copy  of  his  Arcadia,  i.  34,  35. 

Siena,  Italy,  visit,  ii.  200,  201. 

Silenus,  classic  allusion,  i.  473. 

Sill,  Captain,  and  the  Indians,  i.  10. 

Simeon,  Sir  John,  ii.  279. 

Simpson,  Dr.,  attends  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  ii.  128. 

Skeleton,  in  story,  i.  498. 

Slade,  Miss,  wedding,  i.  236. 

Slavery:  Cuban  anecdote,  i.  74;  Pierce' s  opinions,  i.  483,  484 ;  in  connec 
tion  with  the  Civil  War,  ii.  269-299  passim ;  Hawthorne  not  an  Abo 
litionist,  ii.  271. 

Sleepy  Hollow,  Concord:  location,  i.  245,  467,  468;  vision,  i.  498;  Haw 
thorne's  burial,  ii.  347,  348. 

Small-pox,  introduced  by  Ebenezer  Hawthorne,  in  1717,  i.  29. 

Smith,  Albert,  interview,  ii.  121. 

Smith,  Elizabeth,  a  forgotten  authoress,  ii.  25. 

Smith  &  Elder:  publishers  of  Transformation,  ii.  235;  changing  the 
title,  ii.  239,  240;  Cornhill  Magazine,  ii.  260. 

Smithell's  Hall,  Eng.,  legend,  ii.  68-70. 


458  INDEX. 

Smithsonian  Institute,  librarian,  i.  285. 

Society:  Hawthorne's  exclusion,  i.  5;  dread,  i.  216;  shunned  by  Haw 
thorne  in  Italy,  ii.  220-222;  attractions  held  out  to  Hawthorne,  ii.  275, 
276.     (See  Seclusion,  Shyness,  Solitude,  etc.) 
Sodom,  apples  of,  ii.  180. 
Sodoma  (Razzi),  frescos,  ii.  201. 

Soldauha,  Duke  of:  offices,  ii.  87;  oourtesy,  ii.  96,  97. 
Soldiers,  who  should  be,  ii.  291.     (See  Wars,  etc.) 
Solitude:  Madame  Hawthorne's,  i.  4,  5,  6;  Hawthorne's  genius,  i.  39; 
his  nature,   i.   90-92;  hereditary,    i.   96,    97;  effect  on  Hawthorne, 
i.   98;    in   haunted  chamber,   i.   125,    126;    estrangement  in   Italy, 
ii.  220.     (See  Shyness,  Society,  etc.) 
Solomon,  boyhood,  i.  94. 

Southampton,  Eng. :  arrival,  ii.  72,  124 ;  boarding-ho.use,  ii.  125-127. 
South  Carolina,  planters,  ii.  328. 
Southern  States:  fire-eaters,  i.  173;  the  Rebellion,  ii.  269-299  passim. 

(See  United  States,  etc.) 
South  Polar  Expedition,   Hawthorne's    connection   with     the  scheme, 

i.  131,  152-158,  161-163. 
Southport,  Eng.:  sojourn,   ii.  131,    132,  134,    142;  curiosities,  ii.  136; 

burglary,  ii.  137. 
Southey,  Robert:  magazine  contribution,  i.  133;  lakes,  ii.  65;  Lodore, 

ii.  66. 

Souza,  Carlos  de,  ii.  92. 
Spain,  anecdotes,  ii.  266. 
Spanish  Maiden,  a  picture,  i.  65,  66. 
Sparks,  Mrs.  Jared,  at  Nahant,  i.  235. 
Spectator,  The,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  reading,  i.  77. 
Speirs,  mayor  of  Oxford,  ii.  131. 
Spenser,  Edmund:  Hawthorne  reading,  i.  220;  heroine,  i.  277;  reading 

aloud,  ii.  9;  -Faerie  Queene,  ii.  175. 
Spezzia  Gulf,  i.  434. 
Spiders,  gray-headed,  ii.  299. 
Spiritualism :  a  curious  experience  in  the  Hawthorne  family,  i.  30-35 ; 

the  Browning  interest,  ii.  129;  Dr.  Wilkinson,  ii.  150,  151. 
Spitzbergen,  allusion,  i.  432. 

Sporting,  Hawthorne's  success,  i.  101.     (See  Fishing.) 
Springtime:  wife  compared  to,  i.  290;  an  idyl,  i.  312. 
Stanley,  Arthur  Penrhyn,  notion  about  Miriam,  ii.  236. 
Stanley,  Lord  (Earl  of  Derby),  interview,  ii.  138. 
Stars,  their  life,  i.  406. 
State  Trials,  read  by  Hawthorne,  ii.  333. 


INDEX.  459 

Steele,  Richard:  allusion,  ii.  72;  compliment,  ii.  146. 

Stevens,  Henry,  in  British  Museum,  ii.  121. 

Stoddard,  Richard  Henry:  details  written  for,  i.  94-98;  impressions  of 

Hawthorne,  i.  459-461;  letter  from  Hawthorne,  i.  461,  462;  King's 

Bell,  ii.  329,  330. 
Stonehenge,  Eng.,  visit,  ii.  125. 

Storey  Family,  connected  with  the  Hawthorne  family,  i.  8. 
Stories,  hints  for,  i.  192.     (See  Hawthorne 's  Notes  and  Works;  also 

Novels.) 
Story,  William  Wetmore :  allusion,  i.  434;  Cleopatra,  and  other  works, 

ii.  181,  182,  278,  279 ;  country-seat,  ii.  200,  201 ;  melancholy,  ii.  201 ; 

companionship,  ii.  213. 
Stowe,  Harriet  Beecher,  her  English,  ii.  57. 
Stratford-on-Avon,  visit,  ii.  64. 

Stuigis,  Russell,  friendliness,  ii.  59,  60.     (See  Letters.) 
Suicide,  Concord,  i.  296-303. 
Sumner,  Charles:  kind  note,  ii.  12;  in  Rome,  ii.  188;  call,  Hawthorne's 

remark  about,  ii.  223.     (See  Letters.) 

Sun:  poetic  descriptions,  i.  77,  78;  sunshine  compared  to  Mrs.  Haw 
thorne,  i.  215,  224,  226;  Peabody  home,  i.  380;  blood-spot,  i.  492; 

drunk  with  tea,  with  a  corpse,  i.  493;  in  vision,  i.  498-505  passim; 

Roman,  ii.  185;  of  Righteousness,  ii.  195;  Florentine,  ii.  197. 
Supernal  Vision,  Emerson  a,  i.  187. 
Surinam,  death  of  Captain  Hawthorne,  i.  36,  98,  99. 
Surrey,  Eng.,  hills,  ii.  112. 

Surveyorship,  Hawthorne's  (Appendix),  ii.  375-385.     (See  Salem.) 
Susan,  romance  of,  i.  128-130. 
Susannah,  candy  gibraltars,  i.  126. 
Sussex,  Duke  of,  visiting  Newstead,  ii.  141. 
Sutton,  Mrs.,  call,  i.  115. 
Swain,  Charles,  description,  ii.  123. 
Swampscott,  Hawthorne's  visit  and  captivity,  i.  128. 
Swedenborg,  Emanuel,  bad  translation,  i.  268. 
Switzerland:  glimpses,  ii.  200;  passport,  ii.  218. 
Synge,  Mr.,  allusion,  ii.  279. 


^ABLE:  hearts  served,  i.  497;  Mrs.  Blodgett's,  ii.  18,  19,  74,  133, 
134;  Liverpool  dinners,  ii.  40-44;  English  dress,  ii.  70;  royal, 
in  Lisbon,  ii.  96;  boarding-houses  in  England,  ii.  125-127;  trattoria, 
ii.  204;  Avignon,  ii.  217;  Chorley's,  ii.  246;  a  New  England  farmer's, 
ii.  288,  289;  Maine  fashions,  ii.  317.  (See  Hotels,  Wine,  etc.) 


460  INDEX. 

Taconic  Hills,  i.  414. 

Tagus  River,  flood,  ii.  100. 

Tannhauser,  Venus  of,  ii.  279. 

Tappan,  Mr.  and  Mrs.:  Lenox  friends,  i.  362,  364,  415,  416,  423,  424; 

resemblance  of  king  of  Portugal,  ii.  98. 
Taylor,  Bayard :  description  of  Hawthorne,  i.  121 ;  his  Hannah  Thurston, 

'ii.  336. 

Taylor,  Father  Edward,  Hawthorne's  report,  i.  214. 
Taylor,  Rev.  Mr.,  antiquarianism,  i.  11. 
Taylor,  Tom,  interviews,  ii.  116,  121,  129. 
Tea:  Hawthorne's  abstinence,  i.  90;  making  sun  crazy,  i.  493. 
Telegraph,  annihilates  distance,  ii.  12. 
Temperance:   accusations  against  Hawthorne's,   i.   85-88;  in  heaven, 

i.  403 ;  laws,  i.  433.     (See  Intoxicants,  Table,  Wine,  etc.) 
Temple,  Frederick,  of  Rugby  and  Exeter,  ii.  236. 
Temple  Bar,  London,  visit,  ii.  72. 
Temple,  London,  visit,  ii.  71. 
Temptation,  Christ's,  i.  3. 
Tennent,  Sir  Emerson,  interview,  ii;  129. 

Tennyson,  Alfred:  quotation  from  The  Princess,  ii.  3;  at  Coniston,  ii. 
25,27;  his  wife,  ii.  129;  description,  anecdote,  ii.  143-146;   Grand 
mother's  Apology,  ii.  223;   books  sent  to,  ii.  273,  274;    quotation 
applied  to  Hawthorne,  ii.  352. 
Thackeray,  William  Makepeace:  contrasted  with  Hawthorne,   ii.  4; 

Lord  Steyne,  ii.  130;  new  house,  ii.  279. 
Thalberg,  Sigismund,  at  a  soiree,  ii.  100. 
Thanksgiving  Day,  allusion,  i.  117. 

Theatre  :  comparison  to  life,  i.  195 ;  Lisbon  and  Liverpool,  ii.  80,  81,  83 ; 
Kean's  Louis  the  Eleventh,  ii.   107;   Helen  Faucit,  ii.  116;  Miss 
Glyn,  ii.  118,  119.     (See  Shakspeare.) 
Thirlwall,  Bishop  of  St.  David's,  ii.  256. 
Thomaston,  Me.,  Cilley's  letter  about  wager,  i.  144,  145. 
Thompson,  C.  G. :  portrait  of  Hawthorne  family,  ii.   186;  character, 

ii.  187;  kindness,  ii.  202,  204;  boys,  ii.  211.     (See  Robbery.) 
Thoreau,  Henry  D.:  in  Concord,  i.  245;  description,  i.  291,  292;  con 
tributions,  i.  382 ;  hut,  i.  468 ;  Ireland's  perusal,  ii.  123. 
Thrale,  Mrs.,  allusion,  i.  84. 
Three  Nats,  The,  Bridge's  article,  i.  152. 

Ticknam  Family,  connection  with  Hawthorne  family,  i.  27.    (See  Pick- 
man.) 

Ticknor,  George,  his  Spanish  Literature,  ii.  129. 
Ticknor,  William  D.:  with  Hawthorne  abroad,  ii.   16,  26,  27;  gifts, 


INDEX.  461 

ii.29;  sailor  question,  ii.  227;  allusion,  ii.  295  ;  Southern  trip,  ii.  336- 
343;  sudden  death,  ii.  343-345,  348,  349.  (See  Letters.) 

Ticknor  &  Co.,  publishers,  i.  359,  396. 

Ticknor  &  Fields,  edition  of  Scott,  ii.  269. 

Tiger-cat,  illustration,  ii.  181. 

Tipperary,  Ireland,  letter,  ii.  6-8. 

Titans,  battle,  ii.  45. 

Titian,  his  Magdalen,  ii.  193. 

Tobacco,  Hawthorne's  use,  i.  87.     (See  Table.) 

Token,  The :  early  papers  in,  i.  97,  98,  131,  132,  138,  139,  143,  146,  149, 
150,  158 ;  list,  i.  175,  176. 

Toleration,  Hawthorne's  misunderstood,  i.  87-91.  (See  Intoxicants, 
Temperance,  Wine,  etc.) 

Tory  Party :  the  Hunts,  i.  46 ;  Judge  Pyncheon,  i.  395 ;  Bramley 
Moore  family,  ii.  40. 

Tower:  London,  ii.  71;  Galileo's,  ii.  198;  Hilda's,  ii.  251;  Concord,  ii. 
267,  268.  (See  Montailto.) 

Tradition,  local,  i.  4. 

Traffic,  temptations  of,  i.  364. 

Travel,  details  irksome,  ii.  214-216.     (See  Italy,  Railroad,  etc.) 

Treeo,  John,  grave,  ii.  230,  231. 

Trees:  in  vision,  i.  498-505^55^;  English,  ii.  63;  in  Concord,  ii.  263. 

Trelawney,  Byron's  biographer,  i.  434. 

Trevi,  Roman  fountain,  ii.  203. 

Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  ii.  259,  260. 

Truth:  Hawthorne's  love,  i.  170;  Melville's  sarcasm,  i.  401;  divining- 
rod,  i.  488. 

Tucker,  Beverly,  consul  at  Liverpool,  ii.  163. 

Tuckerman,  F.  G-.,  letters  about  his  poems,  ii.  273,  274.     (See  Letters.) 

Tunbridge  Wells,  Eng.,  visit,  ii.  116. 

Tapper,  Martin  Farquhar,  description  of  family  and  visit,  ii.  108-116. 

Turtle,  sea-story,  i.  495. 

Tuscany,  Italy,  vineyards,  i.  317.     (See  Florence.) 

Tyler  Family,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  visit,  i.  66,  67. 

Tyranny,  local,  i.  4.     (See  Liberty.) 


TJNITARIANISM:  Boston  churches,  i.  60;  Liverpool  chapel,  ii.  22; 
*-'    English,  ii.  24;    Provincial  Assembly,   ii.  60.      (See    Calvinism, 

Puritanism,  Religion,  etc.) 
United  States:  History,  i.  61,  382;  Union  in  danger,  i.  483,  484;  ships 

to  Liverpool,  ii.  30 ;  orthoepy,  ii.  56,  57 ;  possible  war  with  England, 


462  INDEX. 

ii.83, 102;  shipping-laws,  ii.  151-163;  consulates,  ii.  163-166;  humor 
ous  prediction,  ii.  168;  return  of  Miss  Shepard,  ii.  225;  treatment  of 
seamen,  ii.  226-228;  Civil  War,  ii.  269-329  passim.  (See  America, 
Slavery,  etc.) 

United  States  Magazine,  brilliant  prospectus,  i.  159,  160. 

Up-Country  Letters,  a  book  commended  by  Hawthorne,  ii.  36. 

Upham,  Charles  W .:  History  of  Witchcraft,  i.  9;  jesting  allusion,  i.  117; 
resignation,  reports  about  the  Hawthornes,  294;  interference  with 
surveyorship,  i.  336-340,  ii.  379,  382-384;  in  Congress,  i.  437 ;  compared 
to  Judge  Pyncheon,  i.  438.  (See  Judge  Hawthorne,  Witchcraft.) 

Utopia,  dreamers,  i.  505. 

Uttoxeter,  Eng.,  visit,  ii.  64. 


VAN  BUREN,  MARTIN",  President,  i.  195. 
Vandersende,  Dr.,  treating  Hawthorne,  ii.  333. 

Vanity,  how  treated  by  Nature,  i.  497. 

Van  Ostade,  Adrian,  comparison  with  Hawthorne's  style,  ii.  320. 

Vatican:  sculpture,  i.  321,  ii.  184;  Faun,  ii.  255. 

Venice,  Italy:  glass,  i.  17;  climate,  i.  434;  goblet  comparison,  ii.  333. 

Venus  de'  Medici,  Hawthorne's  insight,  ii.  196.     (See  Tannhauser.) 

Very,  Jones,  long  call,  i.  221. 

Vesuvius,  sunrise,  i.  322. 

Vice:  transmissible  more  easily  than  virtue,  i.  2;  and  intellect,  i.  3; 
experiment,  i.  496.  (See  Intoxicants,  etc.) 

Victoria,  Queen:  proposal  to  Prince  Albert,  ii.  75,  76;  pictures  of  chil 
dren,  ii.  Ill ;  address  to,  on  sailor  question,  ii.  227. 

Villa  Montauto,  Hawthorne's  residence  in  Italy,  i.  30. 

Villeneuve,  Switzerland,  ii.  219. 

Villiers,  George,  Duke  of  Buckingham,  dream  about,  i.  76. 

Vinci,  Leonardo  da,  his  Madonna,  i.  279,  369. 

Virgin  Mary:  in  art,  ii.  184;  Raphael's  Madonna  Seggiola,  ii.  192;  in 
Perugino's  Deposition,  ii.  194,  195.  (See  Art,  Paintings,  Rome, 
Religion,  etc.) 

Virtue:  transmissible,  i.  2;  effort  required,  i.  3. 

Vulgarity,  impossible  to  Hawthorne,  i.  123. 


TTTACHUSETT,  MOUNT,  Mass.,  i.  322. 
W     Waldegrave,  Lady,  an  adventurer  in  her  presence,  ii.  130. 
Walden  Pond,  Concord:  walks,  i.  290,  ii.  269;  situation,  i.  468;  care 
thrown  into,  ii.  287. 


INDEX.  463 

Waldron,  Captain,  and  the  Indians,  i.  10. 

Wales :  origin  of  Hawthorne  family,  i.  8,  9 ;  Peabody  ancestry,  i.  45 ; 
visit,  ii.  57;  Channing's  trip,  ii.  167.  (See  Conway,  Rhyll,  etc.) 

Walking:  Hawthorne's  habit,  ii.  44, 146-148;  in  Rome,  ii.  177,  212,  213; 
Leamington,  ii.  230-232 ;  decreases,  ii.  269. 

Wallis,  Elizabeth,  second  wife  of  John  Manning,  i.  37. 

Ward  Family :  mystery,  i.  426 ;  allusion,  i.  450. 

Ware,  Judge,  anecdote,  i.  81. 

Warren,  Samuel,  author  of  Ten  Thousand  a  Year,  letter,  ii.  40-44. 

Wars:  Hawthorne  affected  by  tales  of  1812,  i.  6;  anecdotes  of  European, 
ii.  266;  Southern  Rebellion,  ii.  269-329  passim.  (See  Crimean  War, 
Revolution,  United  States,  etc.) 

Warwick,  Eng.:  visit,  ii.  146-148;  market,  ii.  230,  231. 

Washington,  D.  C. :  Pierce  letter,  i.  134/135;  proposed  magazine,  i.  159, 
160;  Bridge's  visit,  i.  162;  O'Sullivan,  i.  163;  office  for  Hawthorne, 
i.  164 ;  document  about  removal,  i.  337 ;  clerkships,  i.  461;  liquor,  i.  462 ; 
visit  about  consulate,  ii.  13;  official  correspondence,  ii.  153-166; 
during  the  War,  ii.  308-311,  337;  public  buildings,  ii.  310;  hospitals, 
ii.  326. 

Washington,  George:  allusion,  i.  401;  Hawthorne's  bust  like,  ii.  183. 

Watertown,  Mass.,  Peabody  and  Hunt  connection,  i.  45. 

Watson,  the  merchant,  ii.  122. 

Watts,  the  carpenter,  ii.  267. 

Wayside,  the:  Hawthorne's  home,  i.  450,  459,  466,  469,  476,  ii.  31; 
Mrs.  Hawthorne's  longing  for,  ii.  83;  allusions  (Ch.  VIII.),  ii.  262-353 
passim;  enlarging,  ii.  263,  267,  268;  during  seven  years'  absence, 
ii.  263;  after  Hawthorne's  death,  ii.  353.  (See  Alcott,  Concord,  etc.) 

Weal  Reaf,  The,  Hawthorne's  article  in,  ii.  314. 

Webster,  Albert,  betrothal  and  death,  ii.  373. 

Webster,  Daniel:  estimate  by  Hawthorne  and  wife,  i.  476-481;  compari 
son  with  Pierce,  I.  482,  483 ;  like  Hawthorne's  bust,  ii.  183. 

Wedding-ring,  reminiscences,  i.  492. 

Weight:  Hawthorne's,  i.  491;  story,  i.  492. 

Wellington,  Duke  of,  anecdotes,  ii.  266. 

West  Beach,  Mass.,  sojourn,  ii.  288-290. 

West  Derby,  dinner,  ii.  29;  Bright's  letters,  ii.  226-230. 

West  Gouldsbro',  Me.,  seaside  visit,  ii.  315-321. 

West.  Newton:  Peabody  residence,  i.  183,  430-432;  visit,  i.  408,  409; 
Horace  Mann's  residence,  ii.  381.  (See  Newton.} 

West  Roxbury,  letters,  i.  227,  228.     (See  Brook  Farm.) 

Western  Avenue,  walk,  i.  220. 

Western  Massachusetts,  i.  183.    (See  Lenox,  etc.) 


464  INDEX. 

Westminster  Review,  notice  of  De  Quincey,  ii.  24. 

Wetherbee,  the  carpenter,  ii.  267. 

Wetherell,  Elizabeth  (Susan  Warner),  her  English,  ii.  56. 

Wheatland,  Dr.,  historic  investigations,  i.  9. 

Whig  Party:  Hawthorne's  removal  from  office,  i.  200,  484,  ii.  381; 
Pierce  slanders,  i.  481. 

Whipple,  Mr.,  interview  with  Hawthorne,  i.  459. 

Whitbread,  M.  P.  from  Bedford,  ii.  223. 

Whitby,  Eng.,  sojourn,  ii.  224-226. 

White,  Mr.,  encounter  at  Lyons,  ii.  217. 

White  Mountains,  proposed  trip,  ii.  349. 

Whittier,  John  Greenleaf :  kind  letter,  i.  355,  356;  allusion,  i.  417;  club- 
member,  ii.  276;  pall-bearer,  ii.  348.  (See  Letters.) 

Whittling,  habit,  ii.  43. 

Whooping-cough,  ii.  53,  54. 

Wiggam  Pond,  allusion,  i.  77. 

Wilding,  Henry:  Liverpool,  ii.  22;  consulate  laws,  ii.  64,  65;  clerk  in 
consulate,  ii.  163-167;  vice-consul,  ii.  297,  298.  (See  Letters.) 

Wildman,  Colonel,  at  Byron's  seat,  ii.  138-141. 

Wile}*-  &  Putnam,  publishers,  i.  359. 

Wilkins,  Sergeant,  mimicry,  ii.  42. 

Wilkinson,  J.  J.  Garth,  interest  in  Spiritualism,  ii.  150,  151. 

Will,  John  Hawthorne's,  i.  26-28. 

Williams,  Byron's  friend,  i.  434. 

Williams,  Dr.,  London  library,  ii.  223. 

Williams,  Miss,  allusion,  ii.  101,  103. 

Willis,  Nathaniel  Parker,  The  Three  Nats,  i.  152. 

Willoughby,  Lord,  in  Barbadoes,  i.  23. 

Wilson,  Professor,  burial,  ii.  44. 

Windermere  Lake,  ii.  65. 

Wine:  offered  to  a  child,  i.  58;  Cilley's  wager,  i.  143-149  passim ; 
Italian,  ii.  217.  (See  Intoxicants,  Table,  etc.) 

Winthrop,  John,  immigration,  i.  9. 

Wise,  Henry  A.,  duel  with  Cilley,  i.  173,  174. 

Wise,  Obadiah  Jennings,  War  incident,  ii.  327. 

Witchcraft:  reference  to  Judge  Hawthorne  in  Upham's  History,  i.  9; 
trial,  i.  24,  25 ;  the  curse,  i.  26,  36;  tale,  i.  124;  Michael  Scott,  i.  493, 
494.  (See  Upham.) 

Witnash,  Eng.,  Hawthorne's  favorite  walk,  ii.  146,  230. 

Wits,  in  court,  i.  496. 

Wives,  jealous,  i.  248.     (See  Marriage,  etc.) 

Woking,  Eng.,  dinner,  ii.  119. 


INDEX. 


465 


Wolff,  Professor,  magazine  contribution^  i.  133. 

Woman's  Rights,  Miss  Fuller's  book,  i.  256. 

Wood,  Mrs.,  her  novels,  ii.  141. 

Woolner,  the  sculptor,  ii.  143,  144,  279. 

Wooton,  Eng.,  visit,  ii.  115. 

Worcester,  Eng.,  visit,  ii.  73. 

Worcester,  Joseph  E.,  Dictionary  and  school,  i.  100. 

Worden,  John  Lorimer,  naval  promotion,  ii.  313. 

Words,  innocent,  i.  491.    (See  English  Language,  Orthoepy,  etc.) 

Wordsworth,  William:  motto  from,  i.  124;  contributor  to  Knickerbocker, 

i.  133;  poetry  of  reflection,  i.  167;  Elizabeth  Hawthorne's  reading, 

i.  189;  lakes,  ii.  65;  grave,  ii.  66. 
Workhouse,  touching  incident,  ii.  104,  105. 
Workingmen's  College,  Eng.,  visit,  ii.  223. 
Wyld,  Dr.,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  last  days,  ii.  363-370. 


"\7~ANKEES:  reception  of  foreigners,  ii.  33;  boy,  ii.  43;  captains,  and 
-*-  their  stories,  ii.  74-80.  (See  America,  etc.) 

Yancey,  William  L.,  Secessionist,  ii.  328. 

Yellow  Fever:  Captain  Hawthorne's  death,  i.  36;  Wellington  Peabody's 
death,  i.  60. 

York,  Duke  of,  colonial  relations,  i.  20. 

York,  Eng,:  Minster,  ii.  122;  trip,  ii.  137. 

Yorkshire,  Eng.:  Peabody  origin,  i.  44;  Lord  Houghton,  ii.  58,  228; 
Channing's  trip,  ii.  167 ;  coast,  ii.  224,  225. 

Young^  Edward,  Mrs.  Hawthorne's  reading,  i.  77. 

Youth:  Hawthorne's  peculiarities,  i.  82-100;  not  the  most  perilous  sea 
son,  i.  166;  Hawthorne's  allusion  to  his  own,  i.  238;  renewed  back 
wards,  i.  492;  transformed,  i.  498.  (See  Age.) 


OOLOGICAL  GARDENS,  Liverpool,  ii.  22. 
Zoroaster,  allusion,  i.  186. 


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